The Haven
by love.devil.movies.baby
Summary: Sequel to Married at First Sight. An unknown enemy comes to the Haven's walls, threatening everything Michonne and Rick have built. With allies and spies swirling around them, will Richonne rise to the challenge, or will this be the end of the new world?
1. Enemy at the Gates

**A/N: Inspiration has struck again. And so, without further ado, the sequel to Married at First Sight. Enjoy!**

* * *

"Michonne!" Rick tore through the underbrush, branches and thorns ripping at his clothing and skin. He scarcely felt them. His body was consumed with panic, with searing hot fear. "Michonne!" He called his wife's name out into the darkness.

There was no answer, just the moaning of walkers in the distances and the sobs of their son behind them. Rick turned back to the toddler instinctively, unable to decide whether to embrace the urge to rush back towards him, or the urge to rush forward.

"Rick!" Glenn's voice preceeded his appearance. Rick plunged ahead, picking his way through the inky surroundings, machete in hand, swinging wildly. "Rick!" his friend forcefully pulled him back, nearly jerking him to the ground.

"Let me go," Rick grunted, scrambling to get his footing. His heart was pounding in his ears, his stomach seemed to be fighting its way up his throat, and his veins felt as though they were filled with liquid flames.

"Rick, stop," Glenn's voice hinged on the edge of desperation, his trademark calm nearly shot. "Think of Carl."

His son's name halted Rick's motion. "Carl," he repeated blearily, a promise echoing in his ears. He turned around again, spotting the little boy in Tyrese's arms. The sight calmed him marginally.

"Yes, Carl," Glenn repeated, stepping in front of his friend and leader. "He can't lose you both, Rick."

The energy rushed out of Rick like air out of a balloon. He tilted forward, nearly falling to his knees. Glenn caught him, pulling him up, setting him right.

"Michonne," his wife's name fell from his lips. Rick was tired, so tired. His muscles burned, his chest heaved, and tears had begun to gather behind his eyes.

"You two have a plan, remember?" Glenn swallowed thickly, wiping moisture from his own face. "Remember?" he prompted Rick again.

Rick nodded, shaking his head wildly. "Protect Carl," the words hurt as they left his throat. He had screamed himself raw.

"Carl is the priority," Glenn seized Rick's arm, turning him forcefully.

In the distance, the fires still burned, their flames casting a hellish red glow on the trees. Smoke clouded thickly in the air. Rick choked on it. Glenn wordlessly handed him a rag to cover his nose and mouth.

"Where's Daryl?" Rick's senses were returning one at a time, the panic subsiding and evolving into an emotion he was well-familiar with.

"Mobilizing," Glenn fell in step, bolstered already.

"Sasha, Maggie?" Rick sped his steps up.

"Putting out the fire." Glenn lifted his weapon, covering them.

"Carol has the kids?" Rick ordered his thoughts, strategizing.

"They're all safe. Tyrese and Morgan were there." Glenn recounted. Rick felt the twinges of relief. Hershel Jr, Carl, Sophia, Dwayne…they had made it.

"And the rest?" his heart skipped a beat, already knowing part of the answer.

"T-Dog took a hit, but he's still standing. Dale's unconscious, it's not looking good. And Michonne…"

Glenn broke off.

Michonne was gone.

"I need a weapon. And you and Daryl," Rick sped up his pace. "Maggie and Sasha are in charge. Safety is the priority. Anybody able to stand needs to be wielding a gun or fixing the fence," the orders came naturally. They had planned for this.

"What are we doing?" Glenn asked, ducking around small fires as they approached the remains of the southern wall.

"We're getting her back," Rick paused to kiss his son, committing the smell of Carl's hair, the softness of his skin to memory. Then he charged through the hole in the fence, ignoring the heat, ignoring his discomfort, ignoring the pain.

Rage was all he felt now. It was all he would feel until his wife was back.

"Good," Glenn nodded gravely.

"Let's go," Rick instructed, heading for the nearest car.

-l-l-l-l-

Pain.

It was the first thing Michonne registered. The pain was so intense that it roused her from her sleep, waking her up in a panic. She felt the cold press of concrete beneath her cheek, the burn of rope around her wrist, the taste of blood in her mouth.

She took a moment, refusing to open her eyes, trying to will this nightmare away. She couldn't be here. Her day had started safe and warm in her bed, Rick beside her.

 _"Rick," she whispered his name in the darkness of their bedroom. He shifted beside her, the muscles of his back rippling beneath the covers. Michonne leaned forward, pressing her lips to the smooth, warm skin, her hands snaking around his narrow waist. "Rick," she repeated his name._

 _"What's wrong, baby?" his voice was raspy, rumbling into the quiet of their room and sending a chill through her. She loved her husband's voice, whether he was barking out authoritative instructions, rumbling out motivational speeches, or whispering affections in her ear. Still, his bedroom voice was best._

 _"Do you hear that?" she continued her task of kissing the back of his neck, tracing patterns into his bed-warmed skin._

 _"No," he rolled over, his face creased in concern, his hair plastered to the side of his head. "What is it?" he squinted towards the window._

 _"Nothing," she smiled, her intentions becoming clear. "No one's up, no one's at the door._

 _He grinned back at her, catching on. "Yeah?" his voice took on the smoky timbre that Michonne had been baiting him for. "What do you think we should do with our free time?'_

 _"I've got a few ideas," she swung her leg over his waist, flushing with pleasure as he settled contently beneath her. His hands came up to grasp her. She let out a contented sigh._

 _"I think I've got a few too," his palms skimmed her body slowly, leisurely as he sat up to catch her lips with his._

 _Michonne melted against her husband, relishing their seldom-found alone time together._

She could feel the echoes of his kisses on her skin, the comforting pressure of his hands. It gave her the strength to flutter her eyes open.

The darkness was all-consuming, almost like a void in the middle of the world. The fringes of panic licked at Michonne but she pushed them away. She needed to focus. They had a plan.

Gingerly, she lifted her head, holding in her wince. Some of her hair was singed, if the smell was any indication, but nothing seemed broken. She flexed her limbs experimentally, tested the tightness of her bonds. Her hands were bound behind her back, securing her to the splintering chair beneath her.

She glanced around, her eyes adjusting.

Concrete. She was in a smooth room of concrete. A cell, if she had to warrant a guess. She swallowed thickly, steadying her heart. There were no cells that she knew of within 10 miles of any community in the union.

Where the hell was she?

"Rick," she breathed out her husband's name, searching her mind for the memory of what happened. The explosion had gone off on the south side of the wall just after sunset. They'd been on the porch, Carl in his lap, counting fireflies.

It had been their day off, the first in months. Neither of them had been on watch.

And the world had gone up in flames.

A dry sob escaped her without her permission. Carl had to be ok. Rick had to be ok. They had a plan.

The hollow sound of footsteps sounded just outside the doors of her cell. Michonne made a split-second decision, lowering her head back to the table and closing her eyes. She let her hair fall over her face, providing cover as she squinted through the slits of her eyelids.

The heavy metal door swung open slowly, creaking noisily until she nearly winced. She could make out the legs of her unwanted visitor, the slacks pressed into a distinct crease, as though their wearer was on their way to church.

"Rise and shine," the cultured tones assaulted her ears. Michonne tensed involuntarily. She sat up slowly, determined to look her captor in the eyes.

He smiled at her, a charming, white-toothed grin. "We've got some things to discuss, Mrs. Grimes."

-l-l-l-l-

"The Hilltop ain't seen nothing unusual," Daryl slammed the door of the car as he jumped back in, his face twisted in a scowl.

"Neither has the Kingdom," Glenn reported.

Both men looked tired, almost haggard. Rick scarcely noticed. His mind's eye was filled with the faces of his wife's parents.

"Let's go," he instructed, throwing the car in gear.

"Go where?" Daryl asked, growling around the syllable. "We don't know where they took her. We don't even know who we're fighting!" Frustration dripped from every word.

"We'll find her," Glenn insisted.

Rick stayed silent.

"What's the plan?" Glenn prompted again, gently, his dark eyes on Rick.

"We start looking," Rick's throat was raw, his body exhausted. It didn't matter. "Daryl, what's our best bet?"

There was a long silence as Daryl stared contemplatively out of the car window. Rick feared for a second that he hadn't heard him.

"East," he finally grumbled out.

"All right," Rick steered the car away from the Kingdom. Carl would be safe there with his grandparents. The Kingdom was hidden, well-armed. Alexandria could handle helping with the rebuild of the Haven.

And he would find his wife.

Gravel crunched beneath the tires of their car as Rick pointed the car east.

"We'll find her," he announced, ignoring the silence.

10 miles passed. Then another 6. The forest receded into fields of yellowing grass. A walker or two ambled by. Rick sped past them all. Every so often, Daryl instructed for them to pull over so he could poke around in the dirt.

"She's strong," Glenn quietly told Rick. The two of them stood in the background, watching Daryl work. "She's probably looking for you right now."

Rick appreciated the efforts, but it did little to assuage his fears. "They knew." The idea had been tumbling in his head for hours now.

"What do you mean?" Glenn asked.

"They only took Michonne. They knew." Rick sighed, kicking dirt beneath his boots.

"They knew who she was?" Glenn's voice broke around the question. Rick nodded.

"They had to," Rick tightened his grip on his Python.

"Who could have known?" Glenn's eyes widened.

"That's what we're going to find out," Rick gripped Glenn's shoulder, heading back to the car.

-l-l-l-l-

"Who's that?" Daryl's question was sharp, his eyes suddenly trained out on the field ahead of them.

"It's not a walker," Glenn was at attention at once. "He's walking too straight."

"He's coming right at us," Daryl reported, raising his bow.

"Wait," Rick slowed the car, fingering his Python. The figure in the distance got closer and closer, the top of its dark head coming into view. Covered in blood and limping along, he may have gone unnoticed by any other group.

"Who the fuck is that?" Daryl repeated.

The figure raised dark eyes to look at them, reaching for them before collapsing to the ground.

"I don't know," Rick unlocked the car, following his gut. "But he's knows something. Let's go find out what."

Together, the three exited the car.

-l-l-l-l-

"You're going to tell me what I want to know."

Michonne glared up at her captor through her hair, the pain evaporating as red-hot anger filled her.

"Like hell," she spat, refusing to cower.

Her captor simply smiled, leaning down to look her in the eyes. "You're going to tell me, or I'm going to go back and finish the job. Maybe find that little boy of yours. Cute thing. Looks like his daddy."

His statement had it's intended affect. Michonne's blood ran cold.

"Now you're getting it," the smile widened. "C'mon, let's take a walk."

Michonne winced as she was jerked roughly to her feet and ushered out into the hallway. There was concrete in every direction she looked.

"Bet you're wondering where you are. Bet you're wondering who I am," his tone had the air of a person discussing the weather. "You'll see soon."

"What do you want with me?" Michonne ground out, breathing through the pain in her leg. Her ankle was sprained at best.

"You'll find that out soon too," he swung a door ahead of them open. The light nearly blinded her. "Let's go, Mrs. Grimes."


	2. The Stranger

**A/N: Thank you for the kind words in the reviews and on Tumblr. I hope you all enjoy this story as much as the first one. Let me know what you think!**

* * *

 _"I swear, he just said it!" Rick steered his wife into the living room, directing her to sit on the floor._

 _She lowered herself to the carpet in front of their son, looking bemused. "He's still young for that, Rick."_

 _"I promise you," Rick took his place beside her, pressing his legs to hers. Michonne leaned into him instantly, relaxing against him._

 _"All right," she smiled serenely. "Maybe he'll show me." She turned her attention to the baby crawling around the rug. "Carl," she called to him._

 _Carl turned his face immediately toward his mother, offering her a gummy smile. He had four or five teeth now, the little ivory hills pushing through rosy gums. Rick grinned at the sight of his favorite little face, so much like his own, but with his mother's beautiful complexion. His hair was coming in thick and curly now, his skin darkened by time in the sun with his parents._

 _"Show mommy what you did," Rick reached for him. Carl bounced happily into his lap, babbling away. "C'mon," Rick coaxed his son. "Show mommy."_

 _"Da-da-da-da," Carl launched into his new favorite syllable. Rick laughed triumphantly._

 _"He knows my name," he grinned happily at Michonne. She promptly burst into peals of laughter._

 _"I stand corrected," she kissed Carl on one of his chunky cheeks before pressing a kiss to Rick's lips._

 _"Let's teach him 'mama'," Rick pulled her under his arm, leaning against the foot of the couch. Michonne settled in next to him._

 _"Sounds good," she tickled Carl, both of them delighting in his giggle._

 _-l-l-l-l-_

"You better start talking," Rick's self-control was snapping. The heat was sweltering. He was going on hour 36 with no sleep. His patience, if ever he had such a thing, was wearing thin. Rick stood up, fingering the handle of his gun.

The stranger flinched before him but continued to glower. Behind him, Rick could feel Glenn and Daryl, weapons at the ready.

"Rick, this guy looks like shit," Glenn observed wearily. Shit was an understatement. He was hard to stare at.

"Doesn't mean he doesn't know shit," Daryl countered.

The stranger glared, scowling beneath layers of dirt and blood. His ruddy skin was cracking, blistering in the hot sun.

"Water," he requested, his accent mirroring Rick's own. Rick felt his interest pique, his instincts causing him to push forward with his interrogation.

"Answer my questions first, then we'll see," Rick removed a bottle from his pack, holding it up like the proverbial carrot.

The stranger took him in, dark eyes flashing beneath his heavy brow. His coal black hair was shorn short, patchy in places, with sunburned bits of scalp peeking out. His clothing had long since seen its last good day. It was hanging off of his frame by threads, revealing the wiry figure of a man damn near starvation.

"What do you want to know?" the parched lips cracked out.

"Where did you come from?" Rick kept his voice measured, attempting not to spook their captive. Some part of him pitied this man. Even so, he was prepared to do what he must to get Michonne back.

"The prison," the answer was instant.

"What prison?" Glenn stepped in, gun cocked, stealing the words right from Rick's mouth.

The stranger shrugged, looking like the effort cost him most of his strength. "I don't fucking know man. Does anyone know anymore?" he coughed, a dry hacking sound that made Rick want to take a step back.

"Where's it at?" Daryl tilted his head, staring down.

"Miles back. Middle of nowhere." The stranger gestured vaguely. "Water, _please_."

"Not good enough," Rick jerked the bottle back, popping the cap and sloshing the liquid around. "What's at this prison?"

"People," the answer was clipped, desperate. "Lots of them. Almost 50. All holed up in there, hunkering down."

Rick's heart sped up. There were no more unknown settlements anywhere near the Haven. After the junkyard incident, he'd made sure of it.

"What are they like?" Glenn asked, shifting beside Rick.

"Scared," the stranger slumped over, grasping his side with a gasp of pain.

Glenn, Daryl, and Rick exchanged a brief look. Walkers had ceased to cause fear like that years ago.

"Who's in charge?" Rick took a step forward.

"Why do you care?" the dark-haired man panted.

Rick held out the bottle of water. The captive fell on it ravenously, draining the container. Rick pulled it back before he could finish. "Tell me," he demanded.

Nervousness flickered over the stranger's face. "Who are you?"

"You ain't in any position to be asking questions," Daryl cocked his bow, glowering down at the man slumping against their car.

"Tell us," Rick seized his Python, thumbing the safety. He leveled it at the stranger. "Tell us, or we're done here," Rick titled his head, staring at this man from beneath his hair. Glenn tensed visibly beside him, but raised his gun as well.

"He's not someone you want to know," desperation crept into the stranger's voice.

"Did he do this to you?" Glenn's eyes narrowed.

The stranger began to convulse, shaking from fear and exhaustion. "I'm not going back there," he shouted, his voice cracking. "I'm not!"

Rick grasped him hard around the shoulders, jerking the stranger's head up to meet his eyes. "What's your name?" he asked, handing him the remainder of the water.

The stranger swallowed the liquid sloppily, emptying the container. "Shane," he licked his lips, eyes flicking about wildly.

"Shane," Rick repeated, straightening up. "There's more where that came from. You're welcome to it. But first, you're going to help me."

"How?" the world seemed to go still.

"He has my wife. We're getting her back. You're leading us there. Help me save her life, and we'll save you."

A warm breeze blew through, stirring the dried grass around them. Shane closed his eyes, seemingly relishing in the slight comfort it provided.

"You don't know what you're asking," he ground out, eyes still closed.

"Maybe." Rick shrugged. "I'm still asking. You gonna make me count?"

A silence spread. For a moment, Rick feared that Shane's body had just given out.

"All right." His answer came at last, his eyes blinking open. "I do this, you save me."

The two men slapped palms, sealing the deal.

-l-l-l-l-

 _"Rick!" Michonne called up to her husband, craning her neck to peer up to the top of the wall._

 _"Hey hon," he grinned down at her, his curls swinging free in the spring breeze. "Hey son."_

 _Carl waved happily up at his father. Michonne set him down carefully, escorting him up the stairs slowly. Rick offered his encouragements, squatting and resting on his calves as he beckoned Carl up to him. Carl clung tightly to Michonne's hand, methodically making his way up. Michonne released him on the top step, watching as Carl rocked wildly before falling forward into his father's arms._

 _"He's getting better," she observed proudly, smiling as Rick bounced their son around enthusiastically._

 _"He'll be running soon," Rick ruffled Carl's thick mop of curls, planting kisses on his coppery skin._

 _"How's it going up here?" Michonne questioned, reaching for Rick's hand._

 _"Almost done," he announced, walking with his family along the top of the wall. "Should be plenty of food this winter. We're storing it in two places now. Probably going to have to build a bigger shed for it."_

 _"A good problem to have," Michonne closed her eyes, relishing in the cool breeze ruffling her hair._

 _"We might need to push the wall out. We're running out of space," he grinned._

 _"Not bad for our first few years at this," Michonne laughed, simply enjoying the view._

 _"Not bad at all. Right, Carl?" Rick asked._

 _Carl nodded, happy to make his father happy. He settled his face on Rick's shoulder, smiling at his mother._

 _-l-l-l-l-_

"As you can see, we've got quite the operation going on here," the leader paraded Michonne on the catwalk above.

She peered through the chain link fence and barbed wire, cataloguing. There were dozens of people out and hard at work already, despite the sun still rising. Some in the distance seemed to be farming, the ones nearest were methodically stabbing walkers through the fence.

"Seems like it's working for you," Michonne nodded, keeping her voice calm, even as the pain threatened to send her to her knees. Her ankle was practically screaming its protest.

"Trouble is, we're running out of space," the tall man turned to her, tilting his salt and pepper capped head.

"Might want to think about expanding," Michonne observed through gritted teeth. She needed rest, she needed water, and she needed to escape.

"Kind of hard to expand a prison," he was grinning at her like he could read her thoughts. Michonne swallowed her fear.

"What do you need me for?" she asked. She was sick of all this ambiguity.

"It's not you I need, not really," her captor leaned against one chain-link wall, gazing down at her amusedly. "But that place you got there. That's mighty interesting."

"There's plenty of room there. You could—"

"Oh I'm sure," he cut her off again. "The trouble is, I've never been very good at sharing."

"Why take me then? You blew up the wall." Her mind was racing.

"Sure did," he nodded proudly. "Problem was, you and your little hubby, you weren't on the wall. Unfortunate coincidence. And it wouldn't have been smart to charge in there and take you. From what I gather, you two are pretty popular in those parts. Better to lure you out."

"To kill us," Michonne huffed, forced to lean on the wall for support.

"Right you are," he seemed pleased that she caught on so quickly. "Though, it might be a waste to kill you both." His eyes danced over his figure, sending a chill plunging through her like ice.

Michonne's breath hitched. She steeled her nerve, determined to be unreadable. Her captor continued on.

"From what I hear, ya'll had an arranged marriage. Kind of an antique tradition, ain't it?" he grinned that lopsided grin, straight teeth on display, not bothering to wait for her answer. "Rick is who I need gone. If you're smart, you'll do what I ask you. Keep that little tyke of yours alive. You might want him to remind you of your husband after this is all over."

Her fingers itched for her katana, but Michonne kept still.

"Stoic, huh?" he walked a few steps ahead of her. "I've dealt with that before. You'll soon learn honey, I get what I want. One way or the other. Maybe you can let your hubby know next time you see him."

"Take me back home," she demanded.

"Gladly," he agreed readily. "But we're going to let him sweat a little bit. Rick's got quite the temper. I want him to cool off."

If Michonne knew her husband, prolonging their separation was going to have the complete opposite effect.

"Who are you?" Michonne watched him move off, feeling his guards approaching behind her.

"You can call me the Governor," he turned to her, flashing those pearly whites again. "Everyone does."

Without further ado, he nodded his head. The men behind them ran forward, seizing her.

"Clean her up," he instructed them. "Bring her to my offices. We'll see if we can't bring her around to our way of thinking."

Michonne fought every inch of the way.

-l-l-l-l-

"You don't know what you're getting into," Shane imparted for perhaps the hundredth time, his tone growing increasingly desperate.

"Why don't you enlighten us then?" Daryl was clearly at the end of his rope, but Glenn sat silently, contemplating.

"You said it's fortified?" Rick checked his gun, then his machete in rapid succession.

"Walls on all sides. It's a prison, man," Shane shook his head wildly. He'd perked up some after being given something to eat and drink, but it looked like the simple act of sitting up straight was costing him greatly.

"So how'd you get out?" Glenn piped up, his chin resting on the butt of his rifle.

Shane went silent, the pallor in his skin heightening.

"Answer the question," Rick shoved him with the booted toe.

"I…" Shane choked on the words. "They left me to die. Left me outside the gates."

"So there's no way in?" Glenn continued staring, his gaze unflinching.

"Might be…in the back. But I can't take you. I can't—"

"That's not the deal, Shane," Rick reminded him forcefully. "We save my wife, we save you."

"I can't," Shane began again, shaking.

"You can. And you will. Or you're going to die out here," Rick was in no mood for games. The sun was setting. Michonne had already been gone a whole day.

"If he finds us, we're all going to die." Shane groaned.

"What's so scary about this guy, anyway?" Daryl scoffed, adjusting his crossbow. "He's got an army?"

"He's smart," Shane answered simply. "He gets what he wants. Or he just takes it."

"He's not taking Michonne," Rick would make sure of it.

"Hell no," Glenn agreed heartily.

"Fuck that," Daryl concurred.

"So what's it going to be, Shane. You in? Or are we kicking you out right here?" Rick unlocked the door of the car for effect.

Shane looked wearily into the fading light of the world around them.

"I'm in," he acquiesced, his shoulders slumping.


	3. The Prison

**A/N: Thank you for reading, favoriting, reviewing and following. I hope you're all liking it so far. Here's chapter 3!**

* * *

She could smell them before she could hear them. Michonne tilted her head, staring through the narrow bars of her cell. She'd been in here for hours, nearly a day by her estimate. The cold was beginning to take its toll. She drew her knees up, pressing them into her bare stomach, choosing the warmth of her own body over the comfort of stretching out her sore muscles. The concrete was brutally cold in this cell. Her muscles were beginning to spasm. She cursed lowly under her breath, shivering in the dark.

 _"Your shirt."_

 _The Governor stood, watching her expectantly._

 _"What about my shirt?" Michonne glanced down at her sensible cotton garment. She had borrowed it from Rick the day before, dressing for a day spent at home instead of a day out at work._

 _"Take it off." His instruction was simple. He looked at her expectantly. Michonne stood still._

 _"Why?" she crossed her arms over her chest._

 _"You can give it to me, or I can take it," he took a step towards her. Michonne realized his size in one terrifying moment. Without her sword, without food for nearly two days, without water, without sleep, she had no chance of overpowering him. His voice was carefully controlled, almost pleasant. It nearly disguised the madness burning in his eyes. Her mind raced back to the Haven, to Carl and Rick. She needed to get back to them._

 _Reluctantly, she pulled the shirt over her head, tossing it at the Governor casually. She stilled her shaking muscles, holding his gaze without flinching._

 _"Now your pants," he draped the shirt over his shoulder, his lips quirking in a smirk. Michonne glared, but went to work, shrugging the tight pants down her hips. She was acutely aware that Rick was the only man who had seen her in a state of undress like this. A bizarre kind of pang shot through her._

 _The Governor ambled lazily toward her. She balked as his hands reached for her, hooking into the belt loops of her jeans. He jerked the fabric down, nearly taking her underwear with it. Michonne clung to it tightly, suddenly desperate. Emotions swirled inside of her, anger and fear, and something almost murderous. The mixture was heady. She stood dizzily before him, watching his eyes rake over her scantily clad form._

 _"Not bad," his gazed lingered on the faint tiger stripes that her pregnancy had left on her skin. "Not perfect," he tilted his head as though he were studying a portrait, "but not bad." His fingers brushed her stomach, tracing the lines. Michonne's guts roiled. She swallowed hard, holding in her disgust. The Governor watched her carefully, amused. When she refused to react, her gave her another a self-satisfied smirk. With a final nod, he turned, leaving her inside her cell. "I'll see you real soon," he grinned at her like they were old friends, pulling the bars shut snuggly behind him._

 _Michonne stood, her legs shaking, whether from rage or terror, she was not sure. Minutes dragged on, then nearly an hour. Finally, she lowered herself to the ground, her eyes on the cell doors. Her eyes prickled but she willed the tears back. Sadness was counterproductive. She honed in on her anger. She stared at the bars, plotting._

She was still staring as the sun went down. The scent reached her first, a distinct odor that she would recognize anywhere. It was the smell of death.

The sounds confirmed it. The screams came first, as per usual. Then she heard the moans. Instinctively, she reached for the katana that was probably still sitting on the mantle at home. She rose to her feet, pressing her head against the bars.

"What's out there?" she questioned her guard, a Hispanic man with ebony hair and a face full of scruff.

"Shut up," he didn't even look at her as he chastised her. His hands clenched around his assault rifle.

"Sounds like walkers," she observed, backing just out of range of his swinging elbows. He scowled at her.

"I said shut up," he repeated. His sweating brow betrayed him.

"Sounds like they're coming this way." Michonne continued, the moans in the background punctuating her point. The guard took an uncertain step forward, lifting his gun. Michonne pressed her advantage. "At least I'm safe in here."

The first walker made its way around the corner. Her guard fell back, his back against the bars. He fired off a shot. Michonne waited until his arms were lifted then grabbed him around the neck, using the weight of the bars to leverage herself.

He struggled for several moments, but she didn't relent, even as more of the dead came streaming up the hallway. She held his body up as he went limp, searching his pockets for keys that weren't there. In desperation, she banged her hands forward.

The bars swung open.

Realization hit Michonne at once. "Bastard," she muttered, kicking the guard into the now-empty cell. She'd had enough of the Governor's mind games. It was time to go home.

She seized the gun and ran straight into the hoard, summoning what was left of her energy.

-l-l-l-l-

"It'll work," Rick was done with this discussion. The sun was down, and his wife was just meters away, somewhere inside the compound in front of it.

"And if it don't?" Shane questioned. He was shaking despite the sweltering summer heat.

Rick cocked a brow in his direction, but said nothing. Behind them, he heard two thuds as Daryl completed his work.

"You ready man?" he dropped the walker at Rick's feet, yanking his arrow from the soft remains of its skull.

"Ready," Rick pulled his poncho snuggly around him. With one deep breath, he took the plunge. Shane's face contorted in disgust.

"What the fuck are ya'll doing?" he staggered back.

Rick again did not answer, smoothing the foul-smelling guts over his chest before tossing some in Glenn's direction.

"Camouflage," Glenn humored their reluctant guide, wiping the putrid substance all over his own poncho.

Rick steadied his breathing, gripping his machete in his hand.

"Daryl, you and Shane cover us. Glenn, you and I go in. Stick together. We get her, we get out."

"We should stay, finish the job," Daryl protested, his eyes on the prison in the distance.

"Michonne is the priority. We know where they are now. We'll finish it later." Rick's fingers twitched. "Ready?"

"What do I do?" Shane reluctantly offered his help.

"You're with me. Try not to fuck anything up," Daryl jerked his head in the direction of the car, taking Shane with him.

"Ready?" Glenn asked pleasantly.

"Let's go," Rick took off, Glenn at his heels. It didn't take long to find the horde milling about outside. Glenn went to one side, Rick the other, steering the herd towards the fences. It took a few bounces, but eventually the horde began to imitate them, pressing along the chain link until it began to bow under the weight.

Glenn faded into the background, meeting Rick. They hurried to the side under the cover of darkness, watching as Daryl steered the car slowly into the fence. The metal gave over with an audible snap. It was mere seconds before the walkers streamed inside, following the lights, the sounds, the smells of the community.

"Shane said they'd keep her away from everyone else," Glenn whispered loudly as he streaked after Rick, heading for the west side of the compound.

"Meaning what?" Rick questioned over his shoulder, moving quickly.

"Meaning maybe most people don't know what this place really is. Maybe we just sent a herd of death to a bunch of innocents."

Rick considered this, even as he hopped through a rusted out hole in the back gate, just where Shane said it would be. "Maybe so," he conceded, pushing past the guilt. "But if they've made it this long, they know how to fight."

Almost on cue, gunshots cut into the silence of the night air. Glenn followed after Rick.

"Let's get Michonne and go," Glenn muttered, picking his way past the rubble. This part of the prison was in ruins, held together by weeds and undergrowth that had crept in between the cracks.

Rick was two steps ahead of him. He wound through the hallways, barely able to keep himself from screaming out his wife's name. She had to be here. Shane said they kept them in the back…

"Rick!" Glenn's sharp cry drew him out of his thoughts. Rick stopped in his tracks. His eyes came to the dark, narrow hallway Glenn was looking down. The bodies of walkers were strewn about here, in various states of ruin.

"That way," he nodded, already running off. He recognized this handiwork. When they saw the guard, unconscious inside the bars, Rick's suspicions were confirmed.

"She's nearby," Glenn echoed his thoughts.

"She wouldn't backtrack in," Rick stopped, spinning in the hallway. "She'd be trying to get out."

They turned, hurrying back up the corridor, panting after her. Rick didn't stop until he was outside, the summer air hitting him full in the face. He swept the area, climbing over the labyrinth of brick and cement. A movement from between a two large slabs caught his eye.

"Michonne," he whispered urgently, rushing forward.

She was slumped forward, an assault rifle gripped tightly between her hands. Her head snapped up as he rushed her. She raised the gun, frantic.

"Michonne!" Rick called out again, hands up. He ripped the gore-covered poncho off of his shoulders.

"Rick!" the weapon fell to the ground. He had her in his arms before the first tear could fall. Despite the heat, her skin was cold and conspicuously bare.

"What happened?" he asked her, frantic as he peeled his own shirt off and covered her with it. Fear stabbed through him, hot and painful as he took in his shaking and nearly naked wife.

This Governor was going to pay. He gripped his machete, turning his head wildly as though he would spot the man responsible.

"Please, let's just go," Michonne demanded, trying to stand up. Rick caught her, lifting her into his arms.

"Ok," he agreed. Glenn was already on the move, covering them. His wife was priority.

He would be back for the Governor soon.

Daryl spotted them as they ran, cutting across the field and back to the road. Glenn threw himself into the front seat as Rick hauled he and his wife into the back. Shane watched them, surprise evident on his face.

"She's all right?' he did nothing to disguise his shock.

"I'm all right," Michonne announced, her eyes on Rick.

"We should finish them, Rick," Daryl suggested from the front seat.

Glenn shook his head. "Michonne needs to get back _now_."

"The Kingdom," Rick clipped out. He was furious, half-inclined to heed Daryl's advice. Michonne was trembling in his arms. From the looks of Shane, he wasn't long for this world either. They needed help.

Revenge would have to wait.

Daryl scowled, but threw the car in gear, tearing off into the night.

Michonne clung to Rick, her nails digging into his biceps. "I missed you," she whispered, pressing her face to his.

"I missed you too." Rick nearly collapsed with relief. She was here, in his grasp, alive and relatively well.

He didn't release his grip on her until they put miles between them and the Prison. The gates of the Kingdom beckoned them as dawn began to rise over the world.

-l-l-l-l-

 _"What can you see?" Michonne's voice cracked, her panic almost palpable. Rick squeezed her hand tightly._

 _"One moment," The Kingdom's medic fussed with his tools, his voice soothing as he worked._

 _Michonne looked at Rick wearily, her eyes brimming. Rick brushed a kiss over her lips. "It's going to be fine," he asserted. Michonne nodded._

 _"All right," the wand wandered a path over Michonne's bare abdomen. "There's the little peanut. You can see the heartbeat flickering."_

 _Michonne let out a broken sob, while Rick exhaled shakily, tears cutting down both of their cheeks._

 _"The baby is ok?" he asked._

 _"Both momma and the baby are ok," the doctor smiled. "You're a tough family."_

Carl's miniature hands were twisted in her locs, his little chest rising and falling calmly. Michonne could not relinquish her hold on her son.

"We're ok," she breathed, relaxing into the mattress.

The Kingdom hadn't changed much since she and Rick had made the Haven their home. It still had the same comforting aura from childhood. Still, she yearned for her own house, her own bed. The sound of the door of her room opening caused her to jump, nearly waking Carl.

"It's me, 'Chonne," Rick's voice rumbled out quietly.

"Did they decide?" she asked quietly into the dark.

"You dad is ready to level them all. Daryl too. Glenn ain't so sure," Rick sighed. The mattress groaned as he lowered himself beside her. "Shane's making a case for some of the people. Claims they don't know what he is."

"Do you believe him?" she questioned, reaching for his hand.

Rick squeezed. "I don't know. Do you?'

Michonne exhaled. "I only saw the Governor and a few guards. He's got a big community, Rick. But none of them seemed to know I was there. He could be telling the truth. Maybe the Governor is holding them all hostage."

Rick laid down beside her. The warmth he created was instantly soothing. Michonne scooted closer to him. "We let in a herd. Might not be anything left," his voice was heavy, weary.

"Maybe," Michonne considered this. "We have to know for sure."

"Someone else will go," Rick said firmly, rolling over to drape his arm over the two of them. Carl stirred lightly, snuggly closer to the pair of them. "We're going home."

"Sounds good," Michonne clung to her son with one hand, and caressed the back of her husband's hand with the other. Rick's palm rested firmly on her belly.

"You're really ok?" his voice was strained. His arms tightened around her.

"I'm really ok," she assured him. "I promise, Rick." She rolled closer to him.

"I love you," he punctuated his statement with a kiss. Michonne received it.

"I love you too," she whispered into the dark, drifting off to sleep with her family.


	4. Inquisitions

**A/N: Sorry for the much longer than usual delay! I was in New Zealand, having the time of my life. I appreciate your patience and all of your kind words. I hope you enjoy the next installment!**

 **added note: I edited the ending of this chapter to make it slightly more clear. I promise I'm not trying to be deliberately misleading; I'm still a bit jet lagged. Apologies!**

* * *

"You're the wife?"

The stranger glanced up at her from beneath heavy brows. Some color had returned to his previously pallid skin. Despite this, he looked miles away from good health. She wondered for a moment whether or not he would make it, even with the Kingdom's medics working to preserve him.

"I'm Michonne," she lowered herself into the seat by his sick bed, disguising her wince. The harsh wood was unforgiving against her sore muscles.

His clever eyes never left her, flicking from the top of her head to her feet in one motion. "Shane," he grumbled by way of introduction.

"Pleasure to meet you. I hear you helped Rick." Michonne smiled gently at him. He seemed put off by the gesture.

"Didn't give me much of a choice," he shifted uncomfortably beneath his wool blanket.

"Did your fever break?" she continued her line of questioning.

"Doctor says I might make it," Shane delivered the news with the air of a mourner at a funeral.

"Good," Michonne nodded, undaunted by his tone.

"I'm surprised _you_ made it, if I'm being honest," Shane turned his head, appraising her.

"It's what I do," Michonne ignored the sudden twist in her guts.

"Your man was pretty dead set on it," Shane let out a shaky exhale. "Damn near was crazy."

Michonne remained silent. She had some idea what Rick's mental state must have been. She couldn't imagine losing Rick, couldn't fathom the lengths she would go to in order to get him back. He had scarcely left her side in the 12 hours since he'd found her. He was just outside the door, likely with that scowl on his face, listening carefully.

"The Governor, he don't usually leave people alive," Shane continued.

"He left you alive," Michonne tilted her head, her hair falling over her shoulders in a wave.

"Not on purpose," the surly stranger muttered.

"What happened?" Michonne asked.

Shane became silent, his eyes falling to the sheets. "What happened to you?" he glanced back at her. "He touch you?"

Michonne's blood ran cold. "He might have tried, with more time."

"Doesn't usually need much time," Shane swallowed, looking suddenly exhausted. "Wonder why he took it with you."

"I was worth something to him." Michonne wondered the same thing.

"Your husband?" Shane asked, nodding as though he already knew.

"Maybe," Michonne was not over eager to reveal the Haven's existence to Shane. "How do you know all this about the Governor? Is it common knowledge in your community?"

"Nah," Shane shook his head, a wry smirk twisting his lips. "They think he's a saint. A savior. The man keeping them safe." He spat the words out as though they were poison.

"Why do you know better?" Michonne suspected the answer, but she needed to hear it.

Shane paused, shame washing over his face. "You do what you got to do in this world."

"What was it you had to do?" Michonne's heart began to pound against her chest.

Shane became borderline frantic, his skin sweating as though his fever had returned. "Nothin' I wanted to. Started off small at first. Little stuff, you know? A beat down here, a kidnapping there."

"And then?" Michonne kept her eyes on the stranger. He was flushed now, perspiring, his eyes nearly glassed over.

"Then I worked my way up," Shane said, sinking into the mattress.

Michonne left the subject alone, unsure that she wanted to know more. "Why did the Governor try to kill you?"

Shane chuckled bitterly. "Let's say I put in my resignation. But you don't quit unless he wants you too."

"What made you quit?" Michonne asked.

There was a second's pause. "He's getting crazy. Crazier than usual. Thinks he's a god or something. Tryin' take over the world." Shane's breathing sped up, enthusiasm coloring his words for the first time. "Caught me trying to escape. Beat me half to death. Left me in a field full of walkers."

"Why not just shoot you?" Michonne leaned towards him, trying to understand.

Shane met her eyes. "Why make it quick when you can play with your food?" he answered.

Michonne leaned backwards, overcome by the desire to put space between the two of them. "How much does he know about us?"

"He's got someone on the inside. Someone who used to know you." Shane rushed the words out.

"Who?" Michonne's mind raced, possible culprits flipping by in her mind's eye like a newsreel from the old world.

Shane shrugged. "You gotta ask him. He never told me." Shane leaned backwards in bed as the door swung open, his doctor returning.

"He needs rest," the doctor announced. " _Both_ of you do."

Rick was in the room in a second, helping her out of the chair. Michonne protested. "I'm not tired."

"Fine," the doctor was already busy, "But he is." Shane was already lying down, panting.

Reluctantly, Michonne allowed Rick to lead her from the room.

"Do you believe him?" Rick asked, steering her away from the door.

"He's telling the truth," Michonne nodded, linking hands with her husband. "But not the whole truth."

"Agreed," Rick's mind was far off, problem solving.

Michonne squeezed his fingers to bring him back. "Someone's feeding him information."

"I know. We need to find out who," Rick squinted.

"I think we should leave Carl here," Michonne forced the words out. They hurt even as they left her.

Rick froze, his body going stiff. "He's safest with us…"

"He's not Rick, not if we're at the Haven," Michonne swallowed hard, her eyes prickling. "The Kingdom, it's farthest from the Prison. It's the heaviest fortified. My parents…" they'd never let anything happen to Carl, not so long as they drew breath.

Rick was quiet. He leveled his gaze on hers. "This is what you want?'

"No!" Michonne was dangerously on the verge of tears. "But I want Carl safe."

"I do too," Rick's voice was quiet.

"Until we win this, Carl can't be home."

Rick paused, "Let me handle it then."

"You know what happens when we split up. I'm not sitting on the sidelines for this." Michonne protested. "We do this fast and we do this together. Then we bring our son home."

A silence stretched between them before Rick nodded, "Together," he agreed. He brought her hand to his lips, kissing it gently. Michonne cupped his chin, wanting to be close to him.

"Together," she leaned into hug him. He held her against him.

"Shane can't stay here," Rick insisted, his voice a low whisper. "Not with Carl here too."

"Where do we send him? He's not in any shape to travel." Michonne's mind wandered back to the broken man in the bed. She felt a stab of pity for him, despite her misgivings.

Rick's brow wrinkled, deep in thought. "He stays with us. We watch him. Find out the rest of the truth."

"Bring him home?" Michonne was surprised by the suggestion.

"He doesn't need to know about any of the other communities. They're the one advantage we have. We warn them, have them ready for war. Then we find who's giving the Governor information and attack."

"Why not attack now?" Michonne had never known her husband to be a patient man.

"No one can agree on whether we go to war," Rick showed his frustration for the first time. He shifted his feet, unable to contain his nervous energy. "And we're too fragile to attack by ourselves."

"Who's still not convinced?" Michonne suspected the answer.

"Hilltop," Rick confirmed it. "Damn pacifists."

She smiled despite herself. "We'll bring them around. Send Maggie and Glenn."

"Glenn might not be much help," Rick grumbled. "He's not convinced they're all evil."

Michonne appreciated Glenn's gentle nature, even when Rick couldn't see the benefit of it. Still, now was not the time for inaction. "Doesn't mean we don't show up for the fight," Michonne's mind worked on a compromise. "Show up, give them the chance to surrender."

Rick shrugged. "He might go for that."

"I'll have Maggie talk to him. They'll convince the Haven," Michonne nodded.

"All right," Rick pulled her under his arm, starting them back off. "We leave tonight."

"Where's Carl?" Michonne needed to see him.

"With your parents," Rick had already pointed them in the right direction.

"Let's go tell him goodbye," Michonne's heart broke, even as her resolve turned to steel.

-l-l-l-l-

"You'll stay here," Rick instructed. The room had been fortified months ago, a precaution he'd taken after the Jadis incident.

Shane's eyes swept the area. "Don't see many prisons with curtains on the window," he observed.

Rick didn't bother to deny it. "We'll keep you comfortable. We'll keep you alive."

"I ain't the spy, man," Shane shifted his feet, looking Rick dead in the eye.

"You aren't telling us who it is either," Rick tilted his head at him. "So…" he stepped aside, making room for Shane to enter.

The darker man sat down on the bed, taking in his surroundings passively. "You shouldn't wait for the Governor. Don't give him time." He glanced up at Rick.

"I thought you were arguing that we shouldn't attack. That your people were innocent."

"They are," Shane agreed. "But the Governor, he ain't." He tilted his chin up. "Your wife, did she tell you what he did?"

Rick's jaw tightened, his vision going red. Shane noticed.

"So, what are you waiting for, man?" Shane asked.

"Tell me what you know," Rick implored, taking a step towards their reluctant guest.

"I know he's a goddamn psycho," Shane answered immediately.

"What's his weakness? What spots are vulnerable?" Rick pressed, his hand wandering almost absently to his gun.

"His ego," Shane ruffled what was left of his hair, distressed. "But the Prison, man? There ain't no easy way in. And you better bet he's making it harder as we speak."

"So how do we do it?" Rick's mind was racing.

"Draw him out," Shane began to shake. He leaned back onto the mattress, exhausted.

"What'll lure him?" Rick asked.

"Well," Shane managed to glance at Rick. "We know he likes your wife."

Rick left him in a fury, locking the door behind him. His feet beat a harsh rhythm into the concrete sidewalks as he thundered through the Haven. Daryl and Glenn had their instructions, Sasha and Maggie had been briefed, the fence was under construction and the wall was armed. Rick went straight home.

"What's wrong?" Michonne read his mood immediately as he came through the door.

In three steps he was across the room and she was in his arms. He held her flush against him.

"Rick, what's wrong?" she was almost frantic, her heart pounding an erratic beat against his chest.

"Do you promise you're ok?" he whispered against her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin.

"Rick," she clung to him, shaking in his arms. "I-"

Rick picked her up, carrying her to their room. Their home had been attacked, she'd been taken and terrorized, and they had to leave their son miles away.

"We should be helping," she protested weakly, even as she sunk into the mattress beneath him.

"Let me take care of you first," he pressed this proclamation into her skin with an open-mouthed kiss. Slowly, methodically, he trailed his hands over the familiar curves of his wife's body. She began to tremble. "He's never going to touch you again," he pledged to her.

She stared back at him, her dark eyes watering as she took him in. Rick rolled over beside her, still clutching her hand.

"I promise," he repeated.

"I know," she sat up, reaching for him. She removed his clothing piece by piece, methodically. Rick laid still, enjoying the touch of her nimble fingers. Her smile when she finished her work was worth it.

Slowly, she reached for her own outfit, stilling her trembling fingers. Rick watched her.

"May I?" he asked, sitting up beside her.

"Of course," she leaned into him, her mouth covering his. Her kiss began tentatively, increasing in fervor. She climbed into his lap. "Rick," the gasp that left her mouth made his blood run hot.

"Michonne," he answered with her own name, looking up at her.

"Touch me," there was no uncertainty in her voice. "Please."

He obliged her, beginning at her face, then down her collarbone, chasing his hands with soft kisses. She gasped, pressing her forehead against his. His fingers caressed her stomach, acutely aware of the life residing just beneath his wife's beautiful skin.

"I love you," he reminded her, coming up to kiss her again.

She shimmied backwards out of his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist in a tight vice. Rick allowed himself to be pulled down atop her.

"I love you too," she whispered, gasping as Rick settled against her.

-l-l-l-l-

"Where are you going?"

She glanced at him from beneath the sheets, her hair disheveled. She was smiling. She always smiled afterwards.

"Duty calls, darling," he paused, flashing that grin that he knew melted her.

She sat up, letting the sheet slip. She was trying to entice him to come back. On any other day, he might have taken the bait.

"Already?" she asked, pouting.

"Always," he deigned to walk back to her, dropping a kiss on her forehead. She wilted beneath him, glancing up with wide blue eyes. "I'll be back before you know I'm gone." He returned to his task, pulling on his gun belt.

"I always know when you're gone," she simpered. He allowed himself a smile. "Let me help?" she asked.

"You need to rest," he told her. "Wasn't so long ago you were out there."

"I'm good with a gun. I can farm," she built her argument. She liked to argue, this one.

"And you will," he nodded. "But not today." He touched the top of her blonde head. "Rest," he instructed. "I'll be back."

She conceded, dropping back onto the mattress. The Governor left the room. His lieutenant was waiting for him.

"What's the plan?" he asked. His face was still black and blue from the beating he'd taken. Martinez was his favorite of all the men who fell in line, but rules were rules. Letting a prisoner escape had consequences.

"They'll be back," the Governor talked slowly, confident that they were alone. "Rick Grimes ain't going to rest, not when I hurt his little sugarplum. Fortunately for you, you're little mishap was just a temporary setback."

Martinez nodded, wincing. "So now what?"

"Now?" The Governor opened the door, letting the light in. The people of the Prison were already moving, clearing the dead, repairing the fence. "Now, we get ready for them."


	5. Preparations

**A/N: I'm getting back in the saddle with this one. If you haven't seen it already, I tweaked the last paragraphs of the last chapter to make some details more clear. I promise that I'm not trying to mislead anyone. Mostly, my mind is still on vacation. Thank you for all the well-wishes and support. Let me know what you think!**

* * *

"I think this is the best option," Glenn observed.

The Haven was a flurry of motion. Construction on the outer wall was coming to a close, but a secondary fence was being built behind it, supervised by T-Dog. The brown-skinned man was propped up on crutches, giving orders in his amenable tone. If Rick hadn't have known better, it looked like T-Dogg had simply twisted his ankle, not fallen off the wall when it exploded. The man was insistent that he get back to work as soon as the medic, Denise, gave him a clean bill of health. The Haven was lucky to have him. Rick waved as he and Glenn passed. T-Dog nodded back.

"Give me two weeks, and it'll be done," he called out.

"I owe you one," Rick called back, stopping to shake the man's hand.

"How about a week vacation when all this is done and we'll call it even," he smiled toothily at Rick. Rick returned the gesture.

"Deal." He left T-Dog to his work, continuing down the road with Glenn. "You're ok with this?" Rick asked his friend.

"We can't keep Junior here, not while this Governor guy is out there," Glenn squinted into the distance.

"And Maggie is all right with sitting this one out?" Rick asked.

"There's no one better to send with our son. She'll keep him safe." Glenn sighed. Rick felt a pang in his stomach. His mind wandered back to Carl. His son had screamed mercilessly when Michonne and Rick left the Kingdom without him. The sight of Carl, squirming in his father-in-law's arms and calling out for him was not likely to leave him anytime soon. Glenn's voice drew him back to reality. "There's no one better to whip Hilltop into shape. They'll fall in line if she has anything to say about it."

"You can go too, Glenn," Rick offered. The guilt over the situation weighed heavily on his mind. The Haven wasn't supposed to split families up.

"I'm staying," Glenn said with finality. "You need me. We finish this quick, and everyone comes home." He clapped Rick on the back bracingly.

"I appreciate this," Rick rubbed his brow. "Michonne and I both."

"Don't worry about it," Glenn grinned. "This is how we operate." They both paused, staring up the road. Maggie, Michonne, and Sasha were on the Rhee family porch. "How's Michonne?" Glenn asked quietly.

Rick paused.

 _Her whimpers were so slight at first that in his sleep-addled mind Rick mistook them for Carl's cries. He woke blearily, blinking in the darkness, listening for his son. Instead, he heard his wife. Her body, still bare beneath the covers, was trembling wildly, the skin flushed in a cold sweat. Rick reached for her immediately._

 _"Michonne," he shook her, alarmed by the burning of her skin. "Baby!"_

 _She woke up in a frenzy, her head snapping up, tears in her eyes. "Where's Carl?" her question was instantaneous._

 _"He's safe," Rick prayed that this was still true. "He's with your parents, remember?" he cupped her face, wiping away the moisture there._

 _Michonne let out a shaky breath. "I had a nightmare," she confided._

 _"I know," he pulled the blanket tighter around them._

 _"We have to get rid of him, Rick," Michonne whispered, her words harsh._

 _"I know," he repeated, tucking his head neatly into the crook of her shoulder. "We will."_

 _"Soon," she demanded._

 _"Soon," he agreed._

"She's worried," Rick admitted. He did not like this side of Michonne. In truth, it made him anxious.

"I don't blame her," Glenn nodded sagely. "But we'll handle it. We always do."

Rick let out a shaky exhale. "I've never seen her like this," he lowered his voice.

"Like what?" Glenn's concern was almost palpable.

"Scared," Rick said. Michonne could be many things, but fearful was not one of them. Not until now.

"It's a scary world. Even Michonne isn't immune," still, Glenn's face creased with a frown.

"The sooner we kill this Governor, the better," Rick's finger danced nervously over his Colt.

"So go kill him," Glenn said.

"I will," Rick promised.

-l-l-l-l-

"I'm not sleeping well," Michonne told her friends. They were seated on Maggie's porch, finishing up preparations. "I had a nightmare last night." She hadn't had a dream like that since she was a child and this mess all began.

Both of their heads whipped up immediately. Maggie sat Hershel Jr. down at her feet. Sasha ceased cleaning her gun as they both gave her their full attention.

"About what?" Sasha asked, setting her rifle over her knee.

"The Governor?" Maggie leaned in, her hand still resting on her son's head.

Michonne swallowed, embarrassing tears pooling behind her eyes. "Not him. Not really." She wiped at her face, attempting to get control of herself. A hand touched her knee firmly. Michonne looked up to see Sasha reaching for her.

"Then what?" Sasha asked.

Michonne took a deep breath, attempting to structure her emotions into intelligible words. "When I was there, I didn't know where Carl was. Where Rick was," Michonne said. "Days, not knowing, thinking I might die not knowing. Or worse." Of all of the Governor's mind games, removing her from her family had proved to be most effective. She and Rick weren't supposed to get separated. Not again.

"That had to be hard," Sasha offered. Maggie worried her lower lip between her teeth.

"What did he do to you, Michonne?" she asked.

"Threatened Rick. Threatened Carl. Threatened our home." Michonne recounted the experience. Just the thought of it caused anger to flare up inside of her.

"But what did he do to _you_?" Sasha pressed.

"Tied me up in a room," Michonne hesitated. "Took my clothes."

"He what?" Maggie's question ricocheted off the walls, startling her baby. Hershel Jr. launched into tears immediately. She pulled him into her lap, soothing him.

"Did he touch you?" Sasha was murderous at once, snapping the pieces of her gun back into place.

"He would have, if he had time." Michonne kept her voice steady.

"Does Rick know?" Maggie questioned.

"Of course," Michonne almost laughed. There was nothing Rick did not know about her.

"Jesus," Sasha breathed out, "I'm surprised he didn't burn the whole place down."

"He wanted to," Maggie responded. "Glenn said Rick and Daryl both wanted to end it."

"Rick did the right thing," Michonne interjected. "I was half-conscious. We don't know what kind of people live there."

"We know who their leader is," Sasha said. "That's enough."

"And we'll get rid of him," Michonne replied. Whatever happened to the people of the Prison, they would need a new leader soon.

"But you're ok?" Maggie ventured, her face still revealing her worry.

"I will be. Once he's dead and everyone's back home." Michonne looked out across the porch. The outer wall was almost back up. Things would be back to normal soon.

"I'll convince Hilltop," Maggie promised. "They'll be ready."

"So will we," Sasha lifted her rifle.

"Are you two all right?" Michonne looked towards her friends. "We're asking a lot of you."

Maggie shrugged. "Glenn's convinced we're going to finish this quickly," she hefted Hershel onto her hip as she stood up. "We won't be split up long."

Sasha agreed. "We fight. It's what we do."

"You and Daryl are good?" Maggie asked, fussing with her son. "He seems restless lately. More so than usual."

Sasha remained silent. Michonne and Maggie bristled at once.

"Sasha?" Michonne prompted.

Sasha sighed, rolling her eyes. "It can wait until this is over. It's not that big of a deal."

"Uh-uh," Maggie protested. "I'm not leaving here without knowing what's going on with you. We're going to war. So spill."

Michonne nodded. Sasha rolled her eyes again, opening her mouth reluctantly. "Daryl and I are disagreeing," she admitted.

"About what?" Michonne asked. Rick hadn't mentioned anything of the sort. She wondered if he knew.

"About what partnership means in this world," Sasha set her gun down, crossing her arms over her chest. She sighed, a frustrated sound.

"Meaning…" Maggie pried.

"Meaning I want kids and Daryl doesn't," Sasha clipped out.

An awkward silence spread through the room.

"I didn't know you wanted kids," Maggie whispered.

"I didn't. Not at first. I changed my mind." Sasha swiped at her face.

"Maybe Daryl will too," Michonne suggested.

"Maybe," Sasha didn't look as though she believed it. She turned her eyes to where Rick and Glenn were making their way up the street. "C'mon," she stood up. "We've got work to do."

"I'm going to punch Daryl the next time I see him," Maggie whispered. Michonne smiled despite herself.

"He'll come around," she whispered back.

She hoped it was true.

-l-l-l-l-

"What are you thinking about?" the voice startled her.

Andrea looked up from her place near the fences, smiling as he approached. "Thinking about home," she told him.

He reached for her hand. "I thought you were home," he asked, tilting his brows at her.

She flushed. "I didn't mean to insult you."

"No, no," he kissed her forehead. "Speak your mind."

"The Prison, it's great," Andrea looked around. The fields were blissfully undamaged in the attack. Even the fences were back up. He'd promised they'd be stronger this time. "But where I come from, it's a real neighborhood. With houses, and parks. Without barbed wire." She smiled sardonically.

"This is the same place that left you out in the woods to die?" he questioned, looking down at her.

"I told you," Andrea protested. "We were on a run. They tried to find me."

"Didn't sound like any of the others got left behind." He mused. "No one else turned up miles away, half-starved. It's taken you months to recover."

Andrea sighed, rubbing at the scar on her leg. She was lucky to be walking straight after that break, lucky to be alive. "They didn't leave on purpose."

"I'm sure they didn't," he soothed. "But we don't know where they are. You were delirious when we found you."

"I know," her voice was low as she looked past the fence, out into the wilderness.

"This could be your home," he came around, blocking her view. Andrea tilted her head up to look at him. The sun silhouetted his chestnut hair, lending his face a warm glow.

" _You_ are my home," she leaned up to kiss him, delighting when he wrapped her in his arms. "But the people here, they deserve a real chance at life. Not scrounging for food, not fighting off walkers every other day. How many people have you lost?" her mind wandered back to her savior. Sadness rushed through her. She doubled down on her argument. "We could have a house. We could have a family."

He was quiet for a moment, staring off over her head. "This is what you want?" he asked.

"Yes, Phillip," she watched him. "It's what I want."

He kissed her deeply, not caring that they were in full sight of half the community. "Then we'll look for them," he promised her.

Andrea beamed up at him.

-l-l-l-l-

"We're ready," Rick announced, slipping his boots off at the foot of the bed.

"Good," Michonne sat beside him, leaning into his shoulder.

"The Haven will go in first. I'll try and negotiate. You'll stay with the reinforcements from the Kingdom. If I signal, you go in." Rick recounted. They'd gone over the plan dozens of time.

"It will work," she reaffirmed, rubbing his shoulders. Her katana was freshly sharpened, ready to ensure their success.

He clasped her hand, smiling gratefully at her. "You need to sleep," he told her gently.

Michonne combed her fingers through his curls, a motion which often served to relax them both. "I don't know how I'm going to sleep tonight," she told her husband. She knew that her nightmares caused just as much restlessness for Rick as they did her.

"You need to try. I might need you to save my ass," he grinned, successfully lightening the mood. Michonne giggled.

"I'll be ready," she promised him.

"Still, try and rest," he laid down, patting the space next to him.

"I'll rest when the Governor is dead," Michonne assured him. She looked down at her husband. He was studying her face as though he'd never quite seen her before.

"Michonne," he began, his voice a soft sigh, "We're going to kill him. But promise me something."

"What?" she asked, crawling up towards him. She laid down on the pillow beside him.

"Don't let it change you. There's been evil men before and evil men will come again. We aren't like them."

Michonne stayed silent, watching Rick watch her. "He can't threaten you and Carl and get away with it."

"He won't," Rick stroked her locs.

"And I won't lose myself. I've got you to keep me straight," she rolled closer to him.

"Even if you didn't, promise me, Michonne." He kissed her forehead. Michonne tensed up.

"Don't say that Rick," she pushed his chest.

"I don't like the idea, trust me," he curled his arms around her waist. "But you have to be ready. Just in case."

"I thought you wanted me to sleep well tonight," Michonne felt like crying for the second time that day. She buried her face into his shirt, breathing deeply.

"I want you to sleep well every night," he captured her lips in a deep kiss. "You, Carl, and the baby."

"Then stay with me," she implored him, pulling back for breath.

"I'm not going anywhere," Rick held her in the dark. Michonne listened to the steady sound of his heartbeat.

She fell asleep wrapped around him, her face pressed flush into his chest. Rick laid quietly, his mind racing.

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered his promise into her hair, allowing himself to succumb to his exhaustion.


	6. Attack!

**A/N: Moving right along! Thanks for hanging in with me! I think I finally shook this jetlag. My apologies for any errors in the last chapter. They should be fixed now.**

 **I'm not keeping up with the show right now (no Michonne = no watching from me), but this story is keeping the fire alive for me. I hope you're all liking it.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

"I say we just run 'em down," Daryl squinted from the front seat.

"No," Rick held firm. "We give them a chance."

"They didn't give us no chance," Daryl's hands gripped the wheel testily. "Just blew up the gate. Killed Dale. Hurt T- Dog. Took Michonne."

"I know what they did," Rick gritted his teeth. "It's not what we're going to do."

"We're not like them," Glenn insisted for perhaps the tenth time that morning.

Daryl grumbled, cursing under his breath. Rick felt his already short temper flaring. "If they attack us, you know what to do," the words were thick as they left his mouth. "But we aren't running down people like roadkill. Shut up about it."

Glenn's eyes widened while Daryl flushed an angry red.

"Whatever you say boss," Daryl clipped out, sounding murderous.

"Pull over," Rick announced. The car stopped roughly, halting the fleet behind them. Rick threw open the passenger seat door, stepping out and coming to the other side. He opened the driver's seat, looking into the angry face of one of his closest friends. "I'm driving," he announced.

Daryl climbed out, driving his boots into the ground. Rick caught him by the arm.

"The hell's going on with you, Dixon?" he kept his voice low, aware of the eyes of the Haven's army on them.

Daryl grimaced. "Could ask the same of you," he shrugged.

"We aren't murderers. That doesn't start today," Rick squeezed, holding Daryl in place.

"Whatever you say," Daryl sucked in a breath. "But whatever happens today, that's on you." He shook free of Rick's grip.

"Maybe you forgot, Dixon, but it's always on me," Rick watched his friend's back as he retreated to the other side of the car. Seething, Rick climbed in, gripping the wheel. Daryl opened the passenger seat door. From the back, Glenn glanced between them.

"Glenn," Rick looked back at his oldest friend. "Ride shotgun."

Glenn's face creased, but he complied, bringing his gun with him.

The ride continued in tense silence. Rick's skin burned, a sea of emotions roiling a tumultuous rhythm inside of him.

"Look," Glenn's voice shattered the stillness. "I don't know what the fuck is going on with you two, but squash it. We're going to war today and I'm not getting killed because you two are arguing." He fixed his withering stare on each of them in turn. "I've got a wife and kid to get home to. Pull your heads out of your asses. The Governor is the real enemy."

Glenn checked his weapon, adjusting his grip on the rifle.

"Sorry," the word was half a growl, but it reached Rick's ears from the back seat.

"Don't worry about it," Rick forced it out between gritted teeth. "Thanks Rhee." His later statement came considerably easier.

"Don't thank me. Stay focused," Glenn retorted. "We're almost there."

The Prison loomed in the distance. Even from his seat behind the wheel, Rick could make out dozens of shapes stationed on the lawn behind the fence.

"They're waiting for us," Rick took a deep breath, calming his anger.

"We'll follow your lead," Glenn's eyes were on Daryl as he announced this. Daryl nodded curtly.

"We stick to the plan," Rick slowed the vehicle, reaching to make sure his Colt was still within his grasp. "I'll try and negotiate. If they pull something, I'll send the signal."

"And then?" Daryl asked, swinging his crossbow into his lap.

"The Governor's the target. We take him out." Rick rolled the car to a stop. He could see the man in question, tall and proud, smiling at them all like they were visitors on Christmas morning.

"What if they don't come quietly?" Daryl's eyes raked over the citizens of the Prison.

"Then defend yourself," Rick prayed it would not come to that.

"Ready?" Glenn asked.

"Ready," Rick opened the car door.

-l-l-l-l-

"What's going on?" Michonne shifted on the balls of her feet.

"Rick's talking to him," Sasha squinted through her scope.

"You should just take the shot," Michonne leaned forward, as though she could will her eyes to see further distances.

"From this far out, I could hit Rick," Sasha let out a frustrated sigh. "We have to wait for the signal."

Michonne chanced a glance over her shoulder. Ezekiel stood, decked out in all his accoutrement, Shiva on a chain leash by his side. He leveled his serious gaze at her, all trace of his striking smile gone.

"We are ready," he assured his surrogate niece in a steady voice.

Michonne nodded back at him. His army was assembled, standing firm. She turned back to the scene in front of her. She could see the outline of her husband, his familiar bowlegged stance as he stared down their enemy.

"Be careful, Rick," she muttered under her breath, gripping the handle of her katana.

-l-l-l-l-

"What brings you to our fair community, friend?" he greeted him with all the southern hospitality of the old world.

Rick squinted through the chain link fence. Here was the man who kidnapped his wife, put his hands on her, threatened his town. Rick's fingers twitched on the trigger of his Colt.

"I believe you knocked on my gate first, _friend_ ," Rick fired back, tilting his head. "You're the one they call the Governor?" He took in the man. He was tall, dark-haired, someone who probably still commanded a fair bit of a respect.

"Seems like you know who I am." The Governor smiled, amused. "I'm afraid I don't know your name," he tucked his hands amicably inside his pocket.

"You know who I am," Rick stepped forward, raising his voice for the people milling about in the back. "You blew up my front gate, killed my people, took my wife."

"I think you've got the wrong guy," the Governor smiled widely, gesturing in a huge sweeping motion. "This is a peaceful place. We're just trying to stay alive."

Rick felt his face spread into a grin, a bitter laugh leaving him. "I know what you're trying to do," he scoffed, his hand coming to his holster.

"We're trying to live. You seem like you're trying to start a war," the Governor retreated back on the balls of his feet, his tone changing. "Seems like you're threatening us!" he rose his voice. Behind him, people began to stir.

"Here's the deal," Rick raised his voice to match. "You come with us, now. No one else gets hurt." Rick was seconds away from just shooting him through the fence.

The commotion was almost instantaneous. The Governor's people voiced their protest in unison, an angry sound akin to a swarm of bees.

"I'm going to count," Rick's fingers closed around the hilt of his gun. "1, 2…"

The Governor smiled, stepping slowly backwards as his people swarmed forward."

"3," Rick pulled the trigger.

-l-l-l-l-

"Shit," Michonne leapt forward, the crack of the bullet still echoing in her ears.

Behind her, Ezekiel strode forward. "It's time!" his call fell over the soldiers behind him. They moved forward at once.

"Sasha," Michonne's head whipped around to her friend.

"He's moving fast," Sasha scrambled to get in better position, "Rick's following him. Still no clean shot." She cursed, adjusting her gun.

"I'm going," Michonne took off at a run, racing forward from their hiding place and across the tall grass.

"Be careful!" Sasha called after her, already firing off careful shots. Michonne scarcely heard her.

The commotion was drawing walkers now. They ambled forward, gathering numbers, mindlessly heading for the source of the sound. Michonne swung her katana as she sprinted. She lost sight of Rick in the chaos. Soldiers from the Haven were rushing forward, yelling, screaming, shooting. The Kingdom was arriving as well, led by Ezekiel. Michonne ignored them, fighting her way forward.

She caught sight of her husband's head in the distance, bobbing among the chaos. He was shouting, directing their forces. The Haven had made good headway on rounding the Prisoners up, especially as the Kingdom laid waste to the walkers closing in.

"Rick!" she screamed his name, but he didn't turn towards her. His focus was elsewhere. Like a shot from a bullet, he took off, streaking towards the Prison compound.

Michonne doubled her speed, following.

-l-l-l-l-

"Fuck," Rick lost sight of the chestnut-haired head. The asshole was fast. He dug in, determined to cut him off before he could lock himself inside.

Rick gripped the handle of his machete, rushing forward. Behind him, the sounds of the battle raged on. It was oddly calming. For days, he'd sat seething, watching his wife fall apart. He was ending it today.

He spotted him, swinging inside the compound, frantically trying to hide. The cowardice enraged Rick further.

"Hey!" he yelled, his voice a hoarse roar.

The Governor spun. Upon seeing Rick, he tipped his head at him, disappearing inside and pulling the door shut.

Rick wrenched it back open, diving in after him.

-l-l-l-l-

Michonne watched them disappear, sliding into the closed door less than a minute after it had shut. She took a deep breath, then took the plunge. The darkness was all enveloping, the air cool and still in here. It was suffocating, stale, the faint traces of death lingering. Michonne glanced down one long hallway, then another, listening for the sounds of a fight. All she heard was the echoing of her own breath.

Hesitating for just a moment, she made her choice, moving swiftly and quietly. Cells stretched on either side of her, empty and forlorn, still covered in the filth from precious occupants. Michonne glanced at them, noting that some of the blood here was still fresh. She tried not to dwell on it as she made her way down, finally stopping at an old guard's office.

She forced her way in through the locked door. The sight nearly floored her.

Tanks and tanks of severed walker heads suspended in water like some cruel mockery of an aquarium snapped back at her. Her stomach was immediately sick.

"Bastard," she had half a mind to pause, to kill them all, end their suffering. There were trophies, of that she was sure. Dozens of them on display, hidden in here from the rest of the Prison's occupants.

A noise drew her attention, a clattering of metal on concrete. Michonne turned towards it immediately, rushing for the back of the office. This area was a stark contrast to the rest of the cell block, furnished and clean, with a record player pushed into one corner and a bar in the other. Michonne spitefully seized a bottle, pouring its contents onto the music player.

The sound came again, more forceful this time.

"Rick?" she ventured, creeping towards the closet it sounded from. She was suddenly fearful of what she'd find. Steeling her nerve, she yanked the door open.

"Oh my gosh," she breathed, falling to her knees, her katana going slack in her hands.

-l-l-l-l-

"Stop running, you bastard," Rick called forward, still dogging the taller man's steps. His feet slid on the smooth concrete as he picked up speed, barreling into him with the force of a sledgehammer.

The Governor let out a surprised bellow, turning to meet Rick. They went down in a flurry of fists, each swinging with wild haymakers.

Rick saw red, even as his machete slipped from his hand, skittering across the floor. His knuckles split as he delivered blow after blow, scarcely feeling the Governor's fists landing hits to his own body.

He was cursing, sweating, fighting like a man possessed. The fact remained that the Governor was bigger. A knock to the side of his head sent Rick sprawling. He fell to the ground, his head spinning, vaguely aware of the Governor rushing for him. He managed to get in another hit, staggering him back. A knee to the stomach leveled Rick again. He felt hands on his throat.

"You thought you were just going to march in here and take what's mine?" The Governor growled. "I got news for you Rick. It don't work like that. When I'm done with you, I'm going after that wife of yours. And I promise it ain't going to be quick."

Rick's pulse throbbed in his ears as he clawed at the hands. His world was going fuzzy, his thoughts full of Michonne, of Carl. He groped out desperately. His fingers brushed a familiar red handle. He seized it.

The Governor let out an inhuman scream as the blade connected with his arm, yanking back in a spray of blood. Rick sat up blearily, determined to finish the job.

It took him a moment to realize that the Governor wasn't the only thing screaming. Both men's heads whipped to the side, drawn to the agonized sounds coming from down the hall.

"Penny!" The Governor turned, clutching his arm and ran.

Rick stumbled to his feet, following the trail of blood.


	7. The Spy

**A/N: Thanks for all of the kind words and for reading! On to the next chapter...**

* * *

"Oh my gosh," Michonne rushed forward, arms outstretched. "It's going to be ok," she came to her knees in front of the tiny figure.

She twisted in her chains, the lace on her pink, baby doll dress rustling frantically. Michonne reached for the burlap sack covering her head. She lifted it off the girl's head, her fingers catching beneath the rough fabric.

What Michonne found beneath sent her skittering back.

The thing in front of her let out an inhuman roar. Her face was largely gone, not much more than yellowing bone and peeling skin. Her hair came out in great clumps along with the sack. Michonne let it fall from her hands, seizing her katana in its place.

A child. Or what was left of one. The sight of it alone threatened to undo her. Her mind filled with questions, even as she sought to remove herself from the situation. This girl, whoever she had been, she couldn't have been more than 6 years old when she met her end. Not much older than Carl.

"Shit," the word slipped from Michonne's mouth. She scrambled to her feet, determined to run. Whatever this place was, it was evil. Michonne would burn it to the ground.

The walker child screamed at her, a piercing sound sure to bring down enemies upon her. Without a second thought, Michonne swung the sword, putting the chained girl out of her misery.

The body hit the ground in a putrid pile as footsteps sounded behind her. The door flew open and then was slammed back on the hinges. Michonne spun, sword up, ready.

"You bitch!" The Governor was there, clutching his bleeding arm and panting like a wounded animal. He reached behind him, throwing the lock. Michonne shifted her stance, steadying herself. The Governor's eyes were wild as he looked down at the body of his chained captive. He let out a bellow and rushed her.

Michonne was ready. She sidestepped, avoiding being cornered.

"You're sick," Michonne told him, narrowing her eyes.

There were no more words from her enemy, just a strained, vengeful sound. He fell on Michonne with blind rage. She danced away, arching her sword over her head, glancing behind him at the rattling door.

"Michonne!" she would know that voice anywhere.

"Rick!" she called back, breaking for the exit in a sprint.

The Governor cut her off, tossing her backwards, back towards the room filled with severed heads. Michonne threw her hands out, determined not to land on her stomach. Her katana clattered to the ground.

The air was knocked from her body as she collided with the concrete, rolling to take most of the fall to her shoulder. It gave way with a sickening pop and she cried out. She struggled to get her feet beneath her, vaguely registering the sounds of the door shaking frantically and the Governor approaching again.

His hands were on her, sticky with blood. Michonne kicked out, connecting with his thigh. He stumbled back. She moved as quickly as she could, crawling back into the trophy room. The heads were in a frenzy, snapping and snarling silently from their cold tanks.

She reached for one as the Governor seized her foot, pulling as hard as she was able while he yanked her backwards.

The water was cold, the smell nearly unbearable. She could feel the wet, rotten flesh slapping at her skin as they clattered to the ground. The glass shattered with a resounding crash.

The world around her was noise, fear, panic. Michonne gripped out for anything, kicking the heads away from her, trying to keep the Governor at bay. He groped for her, bleeding, wet, smacking heads away like tennis balls.

"You bitch," he repeated, rushing for her.

Michonne's hand closed in on a fragment of the tank. She swung as hard as she could. With a scream, she felt the skin and muscle of his eye give way. Still, she pushed the glass further in. The Governor fell back, flailing, hollering, cursing to high heaven. A sound like exploding wood echoed from down the hall.

"Michonne!" Rick's voice was closer now, followed quickly by the man himself. His face was swollen, covered in blood. He moved with a pronounced limp.

"Rick," tears streamed down her already wet face. He took one look at her, then let out a rage filled yell. His attention turned to the Governor, bleeding out on the floor.

Rick raised the machete in his hand, swinging it down at the Governor. The Governor raised his good arm, attempting to protect himself.

The shot took them all by surprise.

Rick's machete ripped out of his hand, spiraling across the room. Michonne and Rick turned as one, eyes on the door.

"Step back!" a woman's voice demanded.

Michonne felt the air get sucked from her lungs. "Andrea?"

-l-l-l-l-

The world had turned into a fever dream. Every inch of his body was in burning pain, his muscles screaming in protest. It was nothing compared to the sight of his soaking wet wife, laying among severed walker heads in a puddle, bleeding and panting, her arm at an odd angle.

He would kill this man. Even if it killed him in the process.

Rick scarcely heard the shot, but he felt it's effects, the tremors ripping up his arm and yanking his weapon from his hand. He turned his head, now positive that he was in a living nightmare. How else to explain seeing the ghost of a woman who died months ago?

"Andrea?" Michonne echoed his thoughts.

"Back up!" her shout was panicky. Rick's eyes widened, even as her gun swung towards him.

"You're dead," the words hurt as they left him, his lungs straining after nearly being strangled to death.

Andrea laughed, a wry, desperate sound. "I thought so. After you left me—"

"We didn't leave," Rick protested, memories rushing back.

"We looked for you, 'Drea. For weeks, we went out looking. Daryl had a track and then it disappeared. We thought—" Michonne struggled to her feet.

"We thought you died," Rick finished for her. "That was months ago."

"Well, I didn't die," Andrea shook her head, hands still shaking around the pistol. "Phillip saved me."

"Phillip?" the word left both Rick and Michonne's mouths with equal distaste.

"I can't let you kill him," Andrea was crying now. Michonne felt her temper flare.

"Don't you see what he is?" she demanded. "Look at this room, Andrea. Go look in the other room, tell me what you find. He's a psychopath."

"He's not!" Andrea protested. The Governor wiggled towards her like some grotesque slug, seeking shelter behind her legs. Rick took a menacing step forward. Andrea pulled the trigger again. The bullet hit one of the walker heads.

"You know us," Michonne would not relent. She reached Rick's side. He quickly angled himself in front of her, teetering precariously, but facing Andrea down nonetheless. Michonne braced him with a hand to his back. The feeling was immediately calming, even in the midst of this chaos. "You've known us for years."

"This man," Rick spat, "he attacked home. Kidnapped Michonne. Your _friend_. He tried to kill us." He couldn't believe that they were even talking about this. Andrea had been one of the Haven. Now she was one of them.

"Look what you did to him," Andrea insisted, glancing down at the Governor in tears.

"Let me finish it," Rick took a step forward. He'd go through the pair of them if he needed to.

"No," Andrea's tone was harsh. Without moving the gun, still pointed at Michonne, she bent down, helping her man to his feet. He retreated behind her. "You leave, or I'm shooting you both."

Rick's hand flew to his Colt, the blood making his grip loose, but he still managed to get off a shot. It grazed the Governor's leg before embedding itself in the concrete. Andrea turned tail and fled, dragging the Governor with her. Rick set off to chase them, slipping in the blood and fluid flooding the room. Michonne stumbled after him, nearly falling herself. She let out a cry of pain that stopped Rick in his tracks.

"Let them go," she called to him, reaching for his arm. "They won't make it far. The others…" talking now was costing her a great effort. Rick began to panic.

"I have to kill him, Michonne," he helped her move out of the room, back into the office with the shattered door. Michonne leaned heavily against the desk, studiously keeping her eyes away from the body of the child walker.

"Rick, please," she plead with him. "I can't lose you. Let Daryl do it. Or Glenn."

In answer, he kissed her, ignoring the pain. He forced himself to leave his wife, his gun by her side, his machete in his hand.

It was difficult to run, but he managed, each gasp for air sending a shot of agony through him. Still, he could hear Andrea and The Governor up ahead, struggling.

They'd made it back outside, to the back of the compound, away from the war. Rick pursued. Andrea had a car ready, the engine running. She was loading the Governor into the backseat, tears streaming down her face. Rick swung again, the metal of his blade digging into the car's exterior.

Andrea let out a terrified scream and pulled the trigger. Rick just managed to avoid a bullet in the side. Andrea dove for the car door, tearing off without even closing it. He chased them for a long as he was able.

He was no match for a car.

Rick collapsed, his expression murderous but his body utterly shot.

"Rick!"

He turned at the sound of his own name, watching Michonne rushing towards him. She was dragging her katana over her good shoulder, clutching his Colt in her other hand.

"They got away," it was painful to admit, even as he watched their car disappear in the distance.

Michonne fell to her knees beside him. She pressed her forehead to his.

"It's going to be ok," she promised him, even as she shook against him.

Her words did little to assuage Rick's worry.

-l-l-l-l-

"We've got two dozen prisoners," Glenn reported. He was sitting just next to Rick, watching with careful eyes as the medics bandaged Rick and Michonne up.

Sasha stood beside them, clutching her gun. "I should have gone around the back," she lamented.

"You couldn't have known," Michonne moved quickly to reassure her friend.

"We should have been watching the back," Daryl grumbled, standing behind Sasha. "Can't believe the bastard got away."

"You said it was Andrea?" Glenn asked in disbelief.

"She said he saved her," Michonne scoffed around the words.

"Guess we found our spy," Sasha huffed.

Rick was silent, his eyes far off in the distance. "We need to hunt them down."

Michonne's head whipped around. She met his eyes, confused.

Daryl, by contrast, was thrilled. "My thoughts exactly."

"We'll go out until we find him," Rick nodded, worrying his brows together.

"What about Andrea?" Michonne kept her eyes on her husband as she spoke her piece. "She's in love with him. She won't let you kill him."

"Then she's made her choice," it was Daryl who answered.

Reluctantly, Rick nodded. "We start tonight."

"Hell," we can start right now. Daryl leaned forward eagerly.

"No," Michonne touched Rick's arm. "You're in no shape."

"He's tough," Daryl argued.

"Rick," Michonne ignored their friends, leveling a look at her partner.

"Ya'll act like you can't be apart for a minute," Daryl's frustrations made themselves known.

"And you act like you're the one who makes decisions around here," Michonne snapped back.

Sasha stepped forward. "Daryl," she warned her boyfriend in a low voice.

"Everyone just calm down," Glenn attempted to step in. "The Governor could be dead already, for all we know. Michonne stabbed him in the eye. Rick damn near cut off his arm."

"There's only one way to be sure," Daryl said. "We go find him and make sure he's dead."

"You go then," Rick seemed to be reconsidering. His bright eyes found Michonne's. She was sitting, one hand covering her stomach, the other on his own palm. He gave her a comforting squeeze.

Daryl rolled his eyes. "Ain't no time to be getting sentimental, Rick."

"Michonne's pregnant," Rick didn't take his eyes off of his wife. "I'm not leaving her."

Michonne looked at her friend. Sasha's demeanor had gone oddly stiff. Daryl remained silent.

"Congratulations," Glenn spoke up, mustering a smile. Michonne smiled gratefully back at him. He looked to Daryl. "You and I will go after him now. We can re-strategize tomorrow." With a nod, he picked his gun back up.

"You stay," Sasha spoke at last. "Maggie's got to be worried sick. Daryl and I will go." She moved off before anyone could protest. Daryl followed after her without a word.

Rick squinted at the pair. "What's going on with them?"

Michonne sighed, beyond exhausted. "You should talk to him," she told Rick.

"Tomorrow," Rick hopped up, helping her down. "Glenn, let the Hilltop know what happened. Make sure they're ready if the Governor shows up. Tell them we need a council meeting. We've got prisoners of war to deal with."

Glenn moved off, looking eager to complete the task at hand. Michonne and Rick watched him go.

"Let's go home," Rick told his wife.

Michonne took his hand.


	8. Couples

**A/N: Thank you for reading, reviewing and favoriting. It means a lot. I love seeing your feedback. I hope you enjoy the next installment!**

* * *

"You gonna say anything?"

"Oh, now you want me to talk?"

Sasha barely turned her head, her eyes flickering from the road to her partner and back.

"It ain't like you to be quiet like this, that's all." Sullenly, he leaned down in his seat, folding in on himself.

"And it's not like you to treat our friends like shit," Sasha tilted her head, relieving some of the tension that had gathered in her neck. "I get that you're mad at me, but you need to keep your cool, Daryl. Rick and Michonne don't need you making things worse."

"They ain't thinking straight," Daryl began, shaking his head in frustration.

"Yeah, well I'm told love will do that to you," Sasha tore her eyes from the road, taking in the man beside her.

He looked back at her silently. Sasha sighed.

"If Michonne's pregnant, Rick isn't going to leave her alone," she continued. "He's going to be holding down the fort at home. Which means, someone's going to have to take care of wrapping things up. There's prisoners to think about, and we need to fill Alexandria and the Hilltop in."

"And the Governor's still out there," Daryl grunted.

"Maybe," Sasha shrugged, "or maybe he's worm food already. It doesn't matter. What matters is we stick together."

She chanced another look at Daryl. He was staring out of the window. Sasha wiped at her face, turning watery eyes back to the road. The quiet stretched between them.

"I ain't mad at you," Daryl's words were quiet.

"What?" Sasha was startled.

"You said I was mad at you. I ain't," Daryl turned his head to look at her.

She sniffled. "Then what are you angry about?"

He watched her for a moment, his hand masking the bottom half of his face. "I ain't mad," he said at last.

Sasha felt her stomach drop. Her throat tightened as she began to speak the words that had been tumbling around in her head for weeks now. "Until this is over, maybe it's best if we do separate jobs. Michonne might need me at home. She and Rick are really beat up. You can handle looking for this Governor guy."

"What are you saying?" she had his attention for the first time today. He removed his palm from his face, his eyes searching hers.

Sasha took a deep breath, willing herself not to shake. "I'm saying, some space might do us some good. It's not like we're talking anyway. Not really." She swallowed down the emotion prickling behind her eyes.

A familiar hush filled the car, sitting heavily between them.

"If that's what you want," Daryl finally clipped out, turning back to the window.

Sasha let the tears fall as she drove.

-l-l-l-l-

"Glenn!" his wife's voice floated down from the top of the Hilltop's walls.

Delighted, Glenn looked up. "Maggie!" he called back, waving.

Her familiar face split into a wide smile. He knew that he was grinning like an idiot too. It didn't matter. Maggie was here. He was home.

"How did it go?" she shouted to him as she ran down the stairs, her voice moving through the gaps in the fence.

"Everyone's ok. It's a long story though. How are you? How's Junior?" he moved quickly to the gates, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited.

"We're fine, everyone's fine," she answered hurriedly.

There was scraping and thumping on the other side. The gate swung open. She was in his arms before he managed to even get in.

"I was so worried. I almost marched everyone down there," Maggie's grip around his neck was tight.

Glenn picked her up just slightly, her feet dusting the ground while he walked them both inside to safety. "Rick and Michonne got a little dinged up, but they're fine. She didn't lose the baby."

Maggie pulled back, looking into Glenn's face. "What baby?"

"She's pregnant," Glenn looked back at her, confused. "I figured you and Sasha knew already."

Maggie shook her head, her mind racing a mile a minute behind her wide green eyes. "No. She didn't say anything. How did Sasha take it?"

Glenn shrugged, "I don't know. Something's going on with her and Daryl. They're moody. Moodier than usual," he amended.

"Because she wants a baby," Maggie blurted. "And Daryl doesn't."

"Well, shit," Glenn paused. That put a lot into perspective. He contemplated what to say next. "I'm sure they'll work it out."

"They better," Maggie groused. Still, she was smiling, her hand fitting inside of his palm neatly.

"Speaking of babies…" Glenn began.

"Beth has him," Maggie tugged on his arm, dragging him towards her father's house. "We're all waiting for you at home. We can go straight there," she paused, realizing that he'd been sent to Hilltop for more than just a social occasion. "Or should I call a meeting so you can fill us in?"

"Not yet," with a grin, Glenn kissed his wife. "Let's take a minute first."

"Maybe more than a minute," Maggie agreed, heading home with a giggle.

-l-l-l-l-

The fever burned straight through the night. Andrea sat terrified in the car, feeling more alone than she ever had in her life. Even when she'd broken her leg, she hadn't been so scared. She had known that someone was out there looking for her, that someone would find her.

Now she was terrified that they would be found.

He was shaking, vomiting, cursing in a rough, cruel voice she'd never heard before. She'd managed to bandage the gash in his arm and cover his eye, the piece of glass sticking out, jagged and painful. Michonne had done that. Phillip could speak enough to get that much out. Andrea shook just to think of it.

She had never been in the Haven's inner circle, but she fancied she knew something about Michonne and Rick. She knew that they were warriors, well-suited to their positions as leaders. She didn't know what violence they were capable of.

Moreover, she didn't know what had inspired that violence and why they had targeted Phillip. That was a terrifying thought.

She kept him warm, sitting up all night in the dark, wondering and worrying. He had saved her and she would return the favor.

Still, the doubt crept in, flaming the fear into an inferno.

They were looking for her. Looking for Philip.

She wasn't sure if she wanted to be found.

-l-l-l-l-

"Let me see," Michonne prodded gently at his bruised skin, her clever eyes taking inventory.

Rick tilted his chin up obligingly, doing nothing to disguise his wince. It wouldn't fool her anyway. Her fingers worried at his wounds, pressing a warm wet cloth against them. Rick sat still, basking in her attentions.

"You should be resting," he reminded her quietly.

"Shh…" she admonished, pausing for a moment to look at him. "The doctor said I'm fine."

"We got lucky," Rick was still reeling. The baby was ok. Michonne was alive. It was better than he could have hoped for.

"We did," she agreed, dabbing at his stitches. "He could have killed us."

"We almost had him," regret filled him for a moment, even as he sat warm and safe, his wife beside him.

"Maybe he's already dead," Michonne said, continuing her work.

"Only one way to find out," Rick sighed.

"We need to be here, Rick," Michonne said, finishing her work.

"I know," Rick reached for her, pulling her into his lap. Michonne climbed atop him gingerly. "Daryl will handle it. Some time out there will do him some good. He's getting restless. Picking stupid fights," it was annoying just to mention it.

"He and Sasha aren't getting along," Michonne disclosed. She wrapped his bandaged fingers in her own, pressing them to her stomach. "She wants a baby. Daryl doesn't."

"Damn," Rick sympathized. "They need to work that out, get their head in the game."

"Maybe you should talk to him," Michonne suggested. Her fingers came to rest in his hair, rubbing the tension away. He almost groaned at the sensation.

"I will. But there's work to be done first." He lulled against her, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep with Michonne in his arms. "The prisoners…"

"We can split them up," Michonne had clearly given this some thought. "The Kingdom can take some, Alexandria can take some, and we will take the rest. Question them separately until we get the whole story."

Rick nodded, relieved at how often he and Michonne seemed to be on the same page. "There's one more guy we have to question."

"Shane," Michonne's body relaxed against his. Rick reached for her sore shoulder, inspecting the purplish bruises beneath her dark skin.

"He knows more than he's letting on," Rick dropped a kiss on her, letting his lips linger.

"I don't think he's going to tell us much more, not until he trusts us," Michonne could understand the compulsion for secrecy, especially now. "We have to prove we're nothing like the Governor."

Rick let that though sink in, his face still buried in the crook of Michonne's arm. "We move him in here," he rumbled against her.

Michonne jerked back, looking down at him in surprise.

"He's not going to tell us anything if we keep him locked up. But I'm not letting him out of my sight." Rick explained.

Michonne nodded. "The guest room locks," she said.

"Then we'll go get him tomorrow," Rick hugged his wife to him, his fingers clinging to her.

"Rest tonight," Michonne pushed firmly on him, encouraging him to lay backwards. He pulled her down with him, ignoring her admonishing look as he settled her on top of him. "Rick," she moved his hands from her waist. "you need to relax."

"I'm relaxed," he looked up at her. He had never felt fear the way he had today. She'd been screaming while he fought his way into that office. The sound was nothing compared to the images his mind had conjured up. He'd turned his ankle kicking through the wood, but it didn't matter. Michonne was safe. He was going to keep it that way.

"It's been a long day," she sounded exhausted. He reached up to stroke her face. She leaned into his touch.

"You're ok," he breathed out. He dragged his hand down to her chest. Her heart thumped a steady beat beneath his palm.

" _We're_ ok," she corrected, leaning forward. He sat up, pushing past the pain to kiss her. She melted against him. "Lay back," she instructed breathily.

Rick did as he was told. His breath hitched as her fingers did their work, ridding him of his sweatpants. She left his shirt on, but worked her hands beneath it, skimming her palms across the sensitive muscles. She climbed off him for the briefest of moments, but Rick reached for her anyway, delighting when she returned to his arms.

"I got you," she moved his hands to her hips, raising up just enough to accommodate him. Rick felt the groan of pleasure leave him without his permission. The sensation of her around him, warm and wet and familiar, was like a balm to his senses.

"Michonne," he gasped out her name, trailing his hands up her body. She covered them with her own. Her hips moves slowly, purposefully, her full lips parted. She shut her eyes, moisture collecting on her thick lashes.

He stilled her, scooting them back awkwardly until he could sit up against the headboard. He brought them together until they were chest to chest, her forehead resting on his.

"We're ok," she repeated. Rick kissed the saltwater from her cheeks before capturing her lips again in an unhurried kiss.

They took their time with one another until they were both spent, falling asleep tangled together. Rick's hand stayed flat across the gentle slope of Michonne's stomach.

-l-l-l-l-

"Morning," the country accent woke Shane up in a panic. He bolted upright in bed, breathing hard. It took him a moment to get his bearings. The sight of the curtains calmed him marginally. The Prison didn't have curtains.

He rolled over on his mattress, blinking in the light from the open door.

"You're alive," he said.

His visitor looked back at him, chuckling. "I'm alive," he confirmed.

"You look like hell," Shane told him, sitting up.

"Now we match," Rick fired back without missing a beat. "C'mon," he gestured.

"What? Got more questions for me?" Shane lowered his feet to the ground.

"Plenty," Rick sounded unconcerned. "But we've got work to do," Rick took a step backwards, out of the room. "So let's go."

"Go where?" Shane stood up consciously, acutely aware that it was the first day he'd woken up without pain.

Rick cocked a brow. "I'll give you a second to get ready. Michonne's waiting on us."

"Waiting for what?" he sounded like a broken record with all these questions, but Shane's hackles were up.

"Breakfast," Rick's lips titled in just the hint of a smile. Shane didn't know how a guy could smile like that, 'specially looking the way he did right now.

"Your wife made it too," he was genuinely surprised. "Did you kill him?"

Rick paused, "Damn near. He's got one eye, might lose an arm. But someone saved him."

Shane blinked, his heart pounding against his chest. Rick stared back at him, his glance burning through him.

"So you found your spy then?" Shane ventured.

"Breakfast first," Rick turned again. "Then we'll talk."

Shane watched him go, panic rising. Rick left the door open. The sunlight streamed in, along with the sounds of the community out there. He could hear people talking, laughing, starting their days. The noises were foreign to him.

Slowly, he took a step forward. He paused. Then a second step. Rick was waiting down the path from his holding cell.

"You coming?" he called back impatiently.

With a nod, Shane followed him.


	9. Shane

**A/N: It's been a hell of a week, ya'll. Sorry for the delay. Between work and someone slamming into my car, I've been too exhausted to write like I usually do. I managed to finish this chapter. I hope you all enjoy it! Thank you for the support. Let me know what you think.**

* * *

The house was quiet. Shane hadn't heard the sound of quiet in a long time. The Prison was never quiet, not even at night. Darkness meant cover for the Governor's foul deeds. Shane had spent most of his nights on the clock. It started with guard duty, then runs, a beat down here, an interrogation there. Then came the kidnappings.

Now his nights were full of nightmares.

His mind wandered back, turning over the information he'd gathered from Rick. The curly-headed cowboy had disclosed what went down at the Prison, albeit reluctantly. The Governor could be dead by now.

Shane knew better. Roaches were hard to kill.

They'd grilled him on the people from the Prison, asking for details about a long list of folks. Shane did the best he could, but honestly, he wasn't too chummy with his fellow citizens. The Governor kept his enemies close and his henchmen closer.

"Did you find your spy?" he'd asked them that when they let him into their house, still confused as to what was motivating this sudden kindness.

"We did," Michonne, the lady of the house had been the one to respond. "Did you know a woman named Andrea? Blonde, opinionated?"

"Might have seen her," his heart had rattled frantically against his chest, but he'd kept his face calm.

Neither of the Haven's leaders had looked fooled for a second. Shane suspected they'd get the truth out of him eventually. Hell, part of him wanted to tell them. It didn't matter. He had sins to atone for, promises to keep. He'd do it or die trying. He owed her that.

Sighing, Shane settled into the too-soft mattress, willing himself to fall asleep. The quiet was deafening.

He wondered if he'd get the chance to get used to it.

-l-l-l-l-

"They don't drive you crazy?" he asked, squinting in the bright afternoon light.

"Who?" the woman glanced up at him sharply, her round dark eyes coming to slits as she appraised him.

"The lovebirds. They always like that?" Shane jabbed his head in the direction of the couple in question. They were deep in conversation with a heavily muscled man with dark skin. Their hands were linked tightly, like a pair of school kids. They'd been like that for the better part of 24 hours.

The woman next to him took a periphery look in their direction. Her lips pulled into the hint of a smile. "Always," she disclosed, returning to her task.

Shane bent to help her. "And it ain't an act?" No one was that happy, not even before the geeks changed everything. He was old enough at the turn to know that.

The woman snorted a little bit, shaking her head. Her curls, wild and thick, shook with her, escaping the neat braid she'd pulled her hair into. "Nothing about Rick and Michonne is an act." For a moment she looked wistful. Then she pulled her expression back to normal.

Shane contemplated this, moving bricks over for the workers to add to the wall. "They're like that at home. Figured they were putting on a show for me." It was like one of those black and white sitcoms that used to come on when he was a kid late at night. He'd seen goo-goo eyes like that before, and the sight normally turned his stomach. There was something different about these two though. It wasn't all lovey dovey. From what he'd heard, Michonne had taken the Governor's eye and Rick damn near cut his arm off. That fact rang loudly in Shane's mind his first night in their house. Rick had laid down the ground rules in no uncertain terms. Shane knew he was one misstep away from meeting the business end of the lady of the house's sword.

The woman beside him now paused, turning to look at him. Shane nearly withered under her stare. "You were there when Rick discovered the Prison, right?"

Shane nodded. "I was." The thought alone made him sullen again. It was easy to forget the Prison here, easy to let his guard down. He needed to be vigilant.

"Then you should know it's not an act," she cocked a brow. Shane had to admit she had a point. Rick kept his composure here, but that day at the Prison he'd been borderline feral.

"And this place," Shane gestured around them. "It's really like this, all the time?" There was grass here, children, pets, manicured yards and gardens, fruit trees, livestock, a school house even. He hadn't seen anything like it in years, not since before the turn.

The woman looked at him, her expression softening just the slightest. "You get used to it," she told him. "I couldn't believe it at first either."

"Don't know if I'll have time to get used to it," the words left him before he could think better of it.

"Why?" she stopped again to look at him, almost amused. "You going somewhere?"

Shane blinked at her. "I'm a prisoner, ain't I?" He was done with this _Leave it to_ Beaver act. He hadn't been left alone since Rick let him out of that cell. While he couldn't say he blamed Rick for exercising caution, it wasn't the greatest feeling either.

"This isn't the Prison," the woman pulled her work gloves off one finger at a time. She extended her smooth brown palm towards him. "I'm Sasha," she said warmly.

"Shane," he shook it, wondering what kind of trick this was.

"Well Shane," she gestured behind him. "That's my brother, Tyrese, back there. He's going to need some help in the school house. You should go introduce herself."

"I thought _you_ were babysitting me," he offered her a lopsided grin. She scoffed, pulling her gloves back on.

"I don't babysit," she told him, returning to her work with a smirk.

"Shane!" it was Rick's voice calling his name. Shane glanced over his shoulder. The lovestruck cowboy was waving him over, his dark and lovely partner walking away. Reluctantly, Shane shuffled in their direction. He chanced a glance over his shoulder. Sasha was stationed, staring at him. She offered him a slight smile. He smiled back.

"You met Sasha, good," Rick nodded, his brow furrowed. Shane noticed that seemed to be his routine expression, at least out here in public. The Governor was all bright-eyed and bushy tailed when he strolled through the Prison, but Rick did nothing to disguise his emotional state. He only seemed to smile in his own house, when it was just him and his wife.

"She told me to look for Tyrese," Shane reported. "Guessing that's you," he nodded in the big man's direction.

"That's me," Tyrese's deep baritone was oddly soothing. Shane hadn't expected its gentleness. "You feeling better man? You looked like hell coming in here."

"That's how I always look," Shane quipped. Tyrese laughed, a rolling sound that was almost contagious. Behind him, even Rick looked amused.

"Well then you can help me out," Tyrese gestured, "Got some repairs that need doing. Hope you're handy." He extended out a hammer.

Shane grasped the handle, surprised.

"I'll see you both tonight," Rick was already moving off, nodding at the pair of them. A car was rolling up to the gates. Shane watched as Sasha abandoned her station, moving after Rick quickly.

"Daryl's back," Tyrese rumbled. "Let's hope he had good news." With another smile, he gestured for Shane to follow him.

Shane complied, happily leaving the gate behind him.

-l-l-l-l-

She could hear his car before she saw him, the familiar rumble of tires down the paved road. Sasha's heart skipped a beat or two, nervousness suddenly overtaking her. It was a novel feeling, to say the least. Normally she was the one in the car, either driving or riding shotgun, listening to Daryl joke around lightly with her as they returned home.

Sasha chanced a glance at their stoic leader. Daryl's surliness had put a strain on more than one relationship.

"You think he found anything?" Rick asked her, his blue eyes cutting to her face. There was a sympathy there that she wasn't sure she liked. She'd expected Michonne to disclose their struggles to Rick, even hoped for it in some way. Still, she did not appreciate being pitied.

"Daryl's the best at what he does," Sasha kept her voice steady.

"If you mean tracking, that's true," Rick nodded. "Communication isn't his forte though. I used to think I was the most closed-mouth son of a bitch there was."

"Then you met Daryl," Sasha had to laugh.

"Even as a kid, he didn't talk," Rick shook his head, smiling amusedly. "His brother did plenty of that for him."

"He's mentioned that," Sasha had heard the stories. It may have seemed cruel, but she was glad she'd never made Merle's acquaintance.

"He'll come around, Sasha," Rick paused. "He always does."

Sasha felt her body tense up. "What if I'm the one who's changed my mind?" she asked softly.

Rick's eyebrows jumped, but his face remained otherwise impassive. "That's your choice," he glanced at her, reaching out to touch her arm.

"How do you and Michonne do it?" she could feel the prickling of embarrassing tears behind her eyes.

"We just talk," Rick shook his head. "In the beginning, it was kind of hard. I had to remember it wasn't just me, it was us. It's still hard sometimes," Rick sighed.

"Doesn't look like it," Sasha countered. "You two are always in sync."

"When we're out here, yeah," Rick smiled wryly. "Sometimes though…" he broke off. "I just want to protect her from everything. The world keeps telling me I can't. And now with Carl here too, and the new baby, the stakes just get higher."

Sasha considered this. "I know Michonne feels the same about you." She shoved him gently. "See? Always in sync."

Rick smiled but sobered quickly. "You know, I can't say what's going on with Daryl. But my guess is he's afraid of the same things I am. The same things we all are."

"How did you get past the fear?" Sasha asked.

Rick laughed. "I didn't. But Michonne makes it worth it. And Carl. And this baby will too." He squeezed her shoulder. "Some people are worth the risk."

Sasha threw caution to the wind, hugging the man beside her. Rick chuckled.

"He's here," he redirected her attention. Daryl's car came into sight in the distance. Sasha felt her stomach drop, even as she delighted in the sight of him. Daryl climbed out of the car, staring at the pair of them.

"Well?" Rick prompted his friend.

Daryl shook his head. "The trail's cold. Wherever Andrea's got them holed up, she's doing a good job." Daryl sounded disgusted.

Sasha stood near Rick's side, appraising her boyfriend. Even from this distance, the tension was palpable.

"We keep looking," Rick announced, pushing past the couple's loaded looks. "You need a partner." He glanced at Sasha. She stayed silent.

"I'm good on my own," Daryl protested, walking up the path to Alexandria. He looked quickly at Sasha, then away. Sasha inhaled sharply.

"Humor me," Rick grabbed Daryl's arm stopping him in his tracks. Daryl's eyes fell to the ground immediately.

"Shane," Sasha spoke the name unexpectedly, the surly man coming to mind. Both men turned to look at her. "He knows how the Governor works. He's our best bet."

"You trust him?" Rick asked.

Sasha shrugged. "He's got no love for the Governor," she said. She'd spent the better part of a morning with him. She was surprised to find that she did not hate the experience.

"You guys hanging out now?" there was something in Daryl's voice that Rick picked up on. He suddenly looked desperate to get away from them both.

"He's here," Sasha responded coolly, determined not to fight in front of their friend. "He hasn't done anything that makes me think he can't be trusted. Rick's got him at his house."

Daryl shot Rick a bewildered look.

"He's not telling us everything," Rick conceded. "But my gut tells me he ain't what the Governor is."

"You still trust your gut?" Daryl questioned. Rick bristled. Sasha held in her sigh.

"It's kept us alive this long, Dixon," he clearly wasn't in the mood for this song and dance again. "You don't trust him, then you watch him. Shane's going out with you next time. We're transporting prisoners to Alexandria today. That's where I'll be if you need me." Rick's word was final. He left the couple standing there.

"How was the trip?" Sasha ventured, taking a step towards Daryl. He became visibly nervous.

"Disappointing," he admitted.

They stared at one another. "Are you coming home?" she asked, "Before you head out again?"

Daryl looked surprised. "If you want me there," he said.

"I'll see you there," she nodded at him, returning to her work.

-l-l-l-l-

"He's still out there."

Rick found him while he was finishing up work, fixing the last of the shelves in the school house.

"It's a good bet," Shane answered, looking up. Rick stared back at him.

"Andrea's with him," Rick continued.

Shane swallowed. "Probably."

"You know her," it wasn't a question.

Sighing, Shane looked into Rick's face. "Found her out in the woods. Couldn't leave her to die." A sudden image flashed in his mind's eye. He'd found the blonde, bleeding and half alive in the mud. She was barely conscious when he dragged her home, compelled to save her.

"Then what happened?" Rick prompted.

Shane paused, his muscles seizing. "I should have left her out there," Shane sighed heavily. "She'd have been better off."

"What happened to her?" Rick asked, sitting down in front of him.

"She fell in love with a wolf in sheep's clothing," Shane all but growled that answer out. Andrea had started making goo-goo eyes at the Governor the moment she was back on her feet. He'd never left her side, schmoozing and charming her until she fell head over heels. Still, she'd always had a soft-spot for Shane. It had nearly gotten him killed.

Rick studied him intensely. Shane stared back. "You liked her."

Shane shrugged. "She's a sharp lady."

"Bad judge of character though," Rick didn't miss a beat. Shane had to chuckle.

"Might have a point there," he admitted.

"You don't want revenge?" Rick prompted again. "Don't want to make sure the man who did this to you is dead?" He nodded at Shane's still bruised face.

"Nah," Shane shrugged. He'd had his fill of violence. "The Governor ain't long for this world if what you and Michonne say is true."

"What about Andrea?" Rick asked.

"What about her?" Shane cut his eyes at him.

"What's going to happen if she's out there alone? Or worse?"

Shane shook his head. "Why do you want me out there so bad?" he asked Rick, taking a step back. "I thought your bushman could handle it."

"You know how the Governor thinks," Rick said. "The chances of finding him double with you."

"You know what you're asking me?" Shane's hands came to the back of his head. The hair was growing back, soft as kitten's fur. It was comforting, even as the anxiety grew inside of him.

"I'm asking you to prove yourself. To become one of us," Rick said. His gaze became steel at once. "We've all got things to atone for. Maybe it's time you started."

Shane watched him for a long moment.

"Fine," he clipped out. "I'll watch out for your man. I'll bring your girl back for questioning."

Rick smiled. "Good. You do this, you earn your place here."

"Fine," it was a fair deal. "But if I find him, I'm killing him," Shane told him. One last kill, and he'd be done.

Rick's smile widened. "Good."


	10. The Search

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in updates. Life's getting crazy. I appreciate all of the support and kind words! We're on the downward slope. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

The air was full of the smell of death. It hung heavily, saturating everything. Andrea took a reluctant, shaky breath, forcing it out of her lungs quickly. The Prison had never been pretty, but it was a ghost town now. Walkers milled around in endless circles, searching for prey that had long since fled. There was no one living in 10 miles of here.

Except for the two of them.

Andrea glanced at the passenger in the car with her. He was asleep, his face bruised and bandaged. The glass was still there, protruding like some kind of grotesque flag pole from his eye. The sight of it turned her stomach.

She eased the car in under the cover of night, headlights off. She didn't know what drew her back to this place. It was a miracle they hadn't been found yet. Daryl, if he was still alive, was sure to be on her tail. The Prison was the only place she thought he might not search for her.

The walkers swarmed the car but she kept the vehicle moving, her eyes forward. There were medical supplies inside. They desperately needed them. Then they could hit the road, drive as far as the gas would take them. They could get away from the Haven. Away from here.

She pulled into the lot still littered with empty cars, leaving Phillip locked inside. Gun in hand, she forced her way inside, down darkened and blood-stained hallways. She intended to head to the infirmary, to get what they needed and go. Instead, she found herself walking in the opposite direction, towards the office she'd found them all in. Adrenaline and fear had fueled her that day. Now, she needed to see for herself.

The door was shattered, splintering around the lock. Someone had put their foot through it. Andrea stepped through, fumbling for the light switch. The generators blessedly worked. She took the risk, bathing the room in a sterile, fluorescent light.

She saw the dead walker child first. She was covered in flies, the pink of her dress a stark contrast to the rest of her. Andrea turned, emptying the contents of her stomach into the corner. She hurried past it, covering her mouth. The stench was overwhelming here. She fumbled for a light switch in the adjoining room. Her resulting scream echoed despite being muffled by her hand.

Heads. There were heads all over the ground. She jerked her foot back as one snapped at her, rushing back towards the dead girl and out of the shattered door, her heart racing.

"Andrea?" Phillip's voice caused her head to snap around. She saw him silhouetted in the darkness, making his way towards her. She hurried away from the room.

"Phillip!" her voice shook around his name. He came to a stop in front of her, glancing down with concern.

"You screamed," he said, reaching for her.

Andrea stilled her body with difficulty. "It was just a walker. I took care of it."

He stared at her, his good eye boring into her. Andrea kept her gaze on his with difficulty. She trembled, shaking against her will, withering under his gaze.

"All right," he said at last, his voice gentle. He reached out to touch her face. She swallowed thickly. "I haven't thanked you," Phillip continued. "You saved my life."

"Of course," Andrea hoped her smile didn't look as forced as it felt.

"Once I'm all patched up, I'm returning the favor," he grinned broadly at her. It looked sinister in the low light with half of his face shrouded. "We're going to find the survivors. We'll rebuild."

"Survivors?" there was no sign anyone had made it out.

"Rick, he took prisoners. I saw it before he and his wife mutilated me," Phillips face creased, anger coloring his features. "We need to save them."

"I'm sure they're safe," Andrea ventured, her trembling increasing.

"With a monster like Rick Grimes?" Phillip scoffed. "He attacked _us_. Tried to kill _me_. Hell, he swung a machete at you!"

Andrea took a step back, but stilled herself. "How did he find us?" she asked, a thought occurring to her.

"What?" Phillip paused, his good eye darting to her.

"Rick," Andrea calmed herself. "How did he find us? No one in the Haven knew we were here."

"He must have stumbled on us on one of the runs you told me about. Maybe they're out of supplies. They needed to steal from us," Phillip gained steam as he talked.

"It's too bad that Shane wasn't here," the idea formed in her mind, distrust rising rapidly. "He would have been an asset in a fight."

"Who knows?" Phillip didn't miss a beat. "Maybe Rick is the reason Shane disappeared. I wouldn't put it past him."

"Ok," she quickly agreed, even as bile rose again in her stomach. "Let's get you patched up," she reached for his hand, grasping it tightly.

"You're with me, right?" he queried.

"Of course," Andrea smiled serenely, pushing her fear down beneath the surface.

-l-l-l-l-

"Both fences are up. We reinforced the eastern and western walls and we're adding a lookout to the south. I'm worried about those trees creeping around. Makes it difficult to see." T-Dog listed, pointing in each direction.

"Ok," Michonne scanned the work in progress. "We'll send a team out to cut back some of the ones that have gotten too close. Groups of five, three to work, two to guard. No one goes out alone."

"All right," T-Dog nodded at her, looking pleased.

"Sasha is standing guard with her gun. She should be able to hit anything from the tower. Still, we're down Maggie, Glenn, and Daryl, so we need to be vigilant. I'll take first shift." Michonne clutched her gun, hiking it onto her shoulder. The pain was receding, but she was still sore.

"Should you be handling that?" T-Dog's eyes flicked down to her stomach.

"Rick told you?" she asked, biting back a sigh.

T-Dog shrugged. "I've only seen him stressed like this once before. Carl popped out a few months later."

Michonne smiled despite her annoyance. "I'll be fine," she assured him.

"I know you will," T-Dog grinned back at her. "But let the record show I asked in case your man comes raging around here. You know how he gets."

Michonne shook her head. She did know, all too well. "Where is he?" she asked.

"South side, fixing the wall," T-Dog reported.

Michonne swore. He was supposed to be taking it easy. "Ok, I'm going to go talk to him."

T-Dog whistled, his hands up in surrender. "You didn't hear it from me," he said.

Michonne offered him a hug, glancing down at his injured leg. "Take it easy today," she instructed. They all needed to heal.

"Yes ma'am," he complied at once, sitting down under the shade of one the Haven's fruit trees. Michonne left him, heading quickly for the southern wall.

Rick wasn't alone. Half a dozen men were hard at work, reinforcing the wall. Rick was knee-deep in the thick of it. Michonne paused, watching him sling supplies around as though he wasn't hurt. She was impressed despite herself.

"Rick," she called to him. He paused, looking up at her like a deer caught in the headlights. She shot him a knowing look.

"Ohhhhh..." Tyrese teased from behind him. Rick shoved him playfully.

"Be right back," Rick told him.

Tyrese hummed skeptically. "Sure," he laughed, returning to his work. "I'll make sure we finish this up today."

Michonne thanked him, waiting patiently for her husband to join her. "Rick," she began admonishingly.

"Michonne," he returned, looking knowingly at her gun.

They both stared at one another. "We're supposed to be healing," Michonne laughed lightly.

"We'll go to bed early," Rick kissed her. His skin was warm and sweat-slicked from his work. Michonne pulled him into a hug nonetheless.

"Home for dinner?" she asked, toying with his curls.

"I'll see you there," he tapped her gun. "Be careful."

"You too. Let Tyrese lift the heavy stuff. I'll see you if you don't," she kissed his cheek, stroking his hair once for good measure before moving off. She could feel his eyes on her as she made her way to the tower.

Sasha was stationed there, her eyes out on the horizon, her gun in position. She nodded at Michonne as she took her place beside her.

"How's it looking?" Michonne asked.

"Quiet," Sasha answered. "For now."

Michonne exhaled, raising her own weapon. "It's going to be soon," she said.

"I hope so," Sasha's eyes danced to Michonne then back out.

"Me too," Michonne wanted this over, wanted her town safe, her friends to come home, Carl back in her arms.

"It's coming," Sasha said, still scanning the distance.

"We'll be ready," Michonne adjusted her scope and took her place.

-l-l-l-l-

"Ain't you supposed to be helping?" Daryl grumbled.

"Who says I ain't?" Shane fired back.

"I do," Daryl glowered.

The road loomed before them. Shane glanced at the man in the driver's seat. "Anybody ever told you that you gotta piss-poor attitude, man?"

He was met with silence.

"See?" Shane threw his hands up. "That's your problem. You don't talk worth a damn."

Daryl slammed the brakes of the car. Shane rocked forward, nearly hitting his head on the dashboard.

"Fuck you," Daryl told him coldly.

Shane chuckled wryly. "Are you like this with everyone, or am I just lucky?"

"I've got nothing to say to you," Daryl continued to pout.

Shane sighed. "Whatever man," he pointed ahead. "You're going the wrong direction."

"I've already been back that way," Daryl protested. "That's a waste of time."

"Look man, we don't have time for this. If you were trying to hide in a world that had no more hiding places, where would you go?"

"This Governor prick ain't stupid enough to do that," Daryl raised a brow.

"Nah," Shane agreed readily. "But Andrea, she's smart enough to try it. Or desperate enough."

Daryl considered this. "You knew her?"

"Saved her life." There wasn't much point in lying.

"You trying to save her again?" Daryl asked.

"Might be. Mostly trying to kill the man who beat me and left me for dead." The idea gained more appeal the more he thought about it.

"What'd you do?" Daryl asked pointblank.

"Andrea liked me," Shane answered. "She wanted me to take her back to you guys. I agreed. He found out." He felt that anger in his chest again.

"Why'd you agree to do that? For some girl?"

Shane shrugged. "She talked a big game about your little town. Really sold it." In truth, it had sounded too good to be true. Shane should have known better. "Can't say she lied. You guys got it all. Houses, farms, schools…" Shane paused. "Beautiful girls."

Daryl stiffened. "You don't need to be worrying about any of them girls. They ain't for you."

Shane chuckled. "Maybe. I know you all are lucky though. Fight for that. It ain't too common these days."

Daryl nodded. A few moments of silence lapsed before he spun the car suddenly, heading for the Prison.

Shane smiled. "That's more like it."

He settled contently into his seat, no longer minding the quiet.

-l-l-l-l-

"They were here," it hurt to admit it, but Shane had been right.

"Were?" Shane was still peering in doors, looking for the wayward pair.

"Bout an hour or two ago," Daryl estimated.

"How do you know that?" Shane asked, looking skeptical.

Daryl shrugged. "It's what I do." He turned his attention away from the asshole in front of him. Someone had tried to clean up back here, but they'd missed the blood in the trashcan. Something roundish and covered in a bloody rag rested in the bottom of a covered metal bin. Daryl crouched, poking at it with his bow.

"What the fuck?" Shane glanced over his shoulder in disgust.

"Guess Michonne got him good," Daryl smiled, shutting the lid.

"Asshole just won't die," Shane grumbled. Daryl shared the sentiment.

"They didn't stay long." He looked towards the door. "Where would they go now?"

Shane paused. "Shit," he muttered.

"Let's go," Daryl moved quickly down the hall, Shane dogging his steps. Daryl started the car, gunning it for the gates.

They needed to get back home.

-l-l-l-l-

"Show me."

His mouth was pressed to her neck, his breath searing against her skin.

"Phillip," she pleaded, trying to escape his grip.

"Andrea," he mocked, his voice high-pitched. "Our people are in there. You're going to let them die for the people who left you?"

"They're not like that," tears ran hot and thick down her face.

"Look at me!" he turned her around forcefully. The hole in his face gaped at her, raw and red and painful. "Look what they did!"

Andrea gasped wetly, her legs going weak beneath her.

"You're taking me to them," Phillip demanded. "We're getting our people back. We're taking this place."

The knife bit at her neck where his mouth had been, drawing blood.

"Now," he insisted.

Hesitantly, Andrea's legs began to move toward the southern wall.


	11. The Fight

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews and favorites! We're drawing to a close with this story. Please let me know what you think!**

* * *

"Dinner," Rick called the word up the stairs toward his wife.

Her laughter, mixed with Sasha's, rang down the stairwell of the Haven's central tower. Rick smiled at the sound. He hadn't heard it in too long. He wondered whether there would ever be a period of uninterrupted laughter, or if fate simply had plans to deal them a bad hand whenever they got too comfortable.

"What are you doing?" Michonne's face came into view, her gun still in her hand, her dreads pulled back from her face. There were bags beneath her eyes, and faint bruises leaving purple streaks under her brown skin. The sight caused Rick's heart to clench, even as he smiled at her.

"We said we were going to eat dinner together," he hoisted the plates in his hands up for her inspection. He'd managed to whip up stir fry with what was left in their pantry. Runs had become almost nonexistent since the first attack to their home. He was eager for things to get back to normal.

"You guys are so cute, it's disgusting," Sasha rolled her eyes, doing nothing to disguise her grin.

"You should take a break, Sasha," Michonne turned towards their friend. "Get an hour or two of sleep."

Sasha looked at them skeptically, her eyebrows jumping. "If I leave, are you guys going to keep watch or-"

"Or what?" Rick scoffed.

"Do whatever shit keeps getting Michonne knocked up every few months," Sasha said pointblank.

Rick's face dropped, his displeasure clear, even as Michonne giggled quietly.

"I'm already pregnant, Sasha. We'll watch, I promise." She turned her back on them, raising her gun pointedly.

Rick bit his tongue, choosing only to nod at his wife's close friend as she traipsed down the stairs.

"I'll get some sleep," Sasha acquiesced, "after a perimeter check."

"Fine," Rick was happy to see the back of her, still slightly annoyed. "Be careful."

"I'll stay inside the walls," Sasha promised.

"Don't be mad," Michonne chided him knowingly, still looking out over the distance.

"I'm not mad," Rick swallowed his negative feelings, focusing instead on Michonne. "I'm hungry."

"Eat," Michonne nodded at the plates.

"You first," Rick unwrapped one, taking the gun from her hand and exchanging it with her. Michonne smiled gratefully at him as he took her place.

"You think it'll be tonight?" she asked him around a forkful.

"Might be. Might be next week. Might be months from now. We'll be ready." He squinted out in the distance. Tyrese was wrapping up the work on the wall. Guards were posted along the perimeter. They were as ready as they could be.

"I hope not," Michonne sighed. "I miss Carl." Her voice held a heaviness that Rick recognized.

"If he doesn't show up, we'll find him. Carl will be back soon." He wanted to hold her, to assure her that this was going away.

There was work to be done first.

Michonne continued eating, leaning against the railing beside him. Rick steadied the gun against his still sore shoulder. He peered through the scoping, sweeping methodically as Michonne finished her dinner.

"What's that?" a motion caught his eyes.

"What?" Michonne was at attention at once.

Rick's grip tightened around the gun. "Shit!"

-l-l-l-l-

The gap in the fence made her blood run cold.

Sasha bent to inspect it. It was little more than a hole in the mud beneath the wood, as though some animal had been tunneling beneath the gate. She peered through, seeing only forest on the other end. There was no way that Tyrese had missed this. Her brother was nothing if not thorough.

She leaned forward tentatively, running her hands along the new wood. It was still nailed in place, holding firm as she pushed it with her palm. The tools were still in an orderly piled, piles of wood bound together with rope. Her eyes fell to the hole again, noting the dark indentations in the mud. The setting sun made it difficult to see.

Sasha turned, glancing over to the tower. She should have grabbed a flashlight before she left. She'd figured she'd be home by nightfall. Exhaustion was muddling her brain. She steeled her nerve. She was halfway in the process of turning around to report it when she heard the scream. Instinct propelled her to turn around, weapon raised. Kneeling, Sasha leveled her gun, prepared to shoot.

She did not count on the sudden splintering of wood as a board gave way above her, nor the incredible blow to her head.

The world went fuzzy, white circles dancing before her eyes. She flailed out on instinct, fumbling for the trigger of her gun. Her scream of pain was muffled by a strong hand around her mouth.

Sasha fought, biting, kicking, pulling, frantically trying to get her rifle up again and fire off a shot. She couldn't see her attacker, but she could feel him. His grunts and breathing were heaving in her ears.

Her gun was yanked from her hand, but still she kicked out, feeling the ground around her shift and break beneath her feet.

Another blow to her head ended her struggle. Sasha slouched, dizzy, barely conscious, still fighting with what little strength was left. She scarcely felt the ropes being secured around her wrists, or the bite of the knife, her mind filled with thoughts of only one person.

She hoped he came soon.

She lost consciousness completely as she felt her body hefted off the ground.

-l-l-l-l-

"What the fuck was that?" Shane exclaimed, his head whipping around to peer out of the window. The darkness was settling over the woods, throwing menacing shadows along the horizon.

"Someone's screaming," Daryl calmly floored the gas.

"No shit," Shane snapped. "Are we going to do something about it?"

Daryl reached beside him, yanking a lethal looking hunting knife out of his belt. Shane flinched for a moment as it came towards him.

"Here," Daryl forced the hilt into his hand. "Be ready."

Shane clasped it, gripping the handle in shaky fingers. "Don't we need to tell Rick?"

Daryl turned his brights on, flashing them three times, then three times long, then three short flashes. "He'll know," he said, slowing the vehicle to a crawl. "Let's go."

"The plan?" Shane asked, his voice a low whisper.

"Kill him," Daryl growled back.

"All right," Simplicity he could do.

They crept forward, weapons at the ready. Shane's senses were hyper aware. The moss beneath the trees, the crack of branches under his feet, the breeze stirring the air around him—he felt and smelt it all. The scent changed as they grew nearer to the wall.

"Geeks," he announced lowly, adjusting his grip.

"Something's drawing them," Daryl agreed.

"Blood," Shane could smell it.

"Shit," Daryl stopped in his tracks, staring in disbelief at something on the ground. He knelt. Shane stood over him, every hair on his body suddenly at attention.

"What is it?" he couldn't see, not when he was scanning for the Governor. The shadows around them seemed to be moving.

"Shit, shit, shit, fuck!" the curse words ripped from Daryl's lips. He stood up, something clenched in his fist.

"What's that?" Shane asked again, squinting briefly at it. It looked like the scope of a gun.

Daryl took off, moving quickly and silently, a man inexplicably possessed. Shane sprinted after him. The groans of the walkers around them grew louder as they ran, the smell nearly overpowering. Daryl began to fire, emptying his bow steadily. Shane swung his knife beside him, confused, but running on pure adrenaline.

"What are we doing?" he called to Daryl. The man was working steadily towards his goal, acting as though he wasn't even aware of Shane's presence. "Daryl!" Shane yelled at him, knocking geeks to the ground. From beneath their moans, he finally heard what was driving Daryl so insane.

A woman was whimpering somewhere nearby.

Shane's feet steadied beneath him as he redoubled his efforts, plowing through piles of the dead. His gaze was drawn to something above their fight. In the dark, they almost looked like swinging branches, their gentle sway rhythmic. It wasn't until he was only a few feet away that he could see the booted feet, muddy and scuffed, hanging above their heads.

Daryl let out an anguished cry, reaching immediately for a pair of the shoes, his hands moving as far as he could up the attached legs. Shane blinked in confusion, still unsure what he was seeing. He tilted his head up, pushing another advancing walker to the ground. Something moved above him and he saw it.

A tangle of blonde hair. His eyes whipped to the figure beside it. Two people were suspended and bleeding overhead, hanging from a long length of rope.

"Fuck," Shane nearly went to his knees, but instead looked at the man beside him. There was a crazed look in Daryl's eyes that Shane knew well.

"Give me a boost," Daryl shot another walker to the ground before looking back at Shane, his voice a desperate plea.

Shane quickly complied.

-l-l-l-l-

"Something is drawing them," Rick announced.

Michonne's heart began to race, adrenaline filling her body. "Daryl's out there." She'd seen the flashes as well as Rick.

"I know," Rick's voice was calm, his motions controlled as he glanced over the wall. Tyrese was below them on the ground level.

"What's the plan?" The large man called up.

"Secure the perimeter, make sure everyone is inside. We go door to door, in teams the way we talked about." Rick recited.

"Is Sasha up there?" Tyrese's voice was tinged with worry. Michonne glanced through her scope, looking for her friend. All she could see was darkness.

"She's not," Rick's voice shook, his eyes whipping to Michonne and back. "Go!" he yelled down.

Tyrese turned and ran, shouting orders as he went.

Michonne watched, swinging her katana down from her back and into her hand. An odd sense of calm settled over her. "Rick," she called to her husband.

He turned to look at her. "We stay together," he told her.

Michonne reached for his hand, squeezing his fingers. "He's here somewhere. Let's find him."

Rick nodded as someone clamored up the stairs. They both turned to watch as T- Dog stood panting on his crutches. Wordlessly, Rick handed him the sniper weapon. T-Dog took it with a solemn nod.

"Go get him," he instructed.

Together, Rick and Michonne made their way down the stairs and out into the Haven.

-l-l-l-l-

It was difficult to keep the walkers away with Daryl standing on his shoulders, but Shane managed the best he could.

"Are they alive?" Shane shouted over the noise of the dead.

Daryl didn't answer, instead pulling himself onto a branch above them. The moment the weight left him, Shane began to fight in earnest. Half a dozen geeks met their true end at the edge of his knife.

"Shane," Daryl's heavily accented voice drew his attention overhead.

Shane reluctantly looked up. To his surprise, Daryl looked as frantic as he felt.

"Catch," his partner instructed. The rope above him gave way with a snap. The load hit Shane's arms like a pile of rocks.

Shane adjusted his grip, the feeling of human hair sending a shiver through him. He chanced a look at the thing in his arms.

It was Sasha.

"Is she alive?' Shane barely recognized his own voice.

"Help me out!" Daryl called, panicked.

Reluctantly, Shane lowered Sasha to the ground, reaching up to catch the next body.

Andrea looked worse than Sasha, her skin pale and streaked in blood. Both women's hands were bound together, the arms crimson from deep cuts near the wrists.

"He left them as bait," Daryl's voice was murderous. He had jumped down and was clinging to Sasha tightly, shaking her as though to wake her up. His fingers groped at her thin neck. Shane realized with a start that Daryl was openly crying.

"Daryl," he called to him.

"She's alive," the man's voice shattered completely. He pulled Sasha against his chest.

"We need to get them back," Shane picked Andrea up. Her pulse was faint, but still beneath her skin. Both women had lost a lot of blood.

Daryl nodded, not bothering to wipe his tears as he secured Sasha in his arms. He leapt to his feet, deadly serious. Without another word, he ran off toward the Haven. Shane followed, Andrea over his shoulder.

-l-l-l-l-

"Rick!"

The thick accent echoed over the quiet of the Haven.

"Rick!"

Michonne's stood beside him, listening to the stranger calling her husband's name from the other side of the gate. Rick sucked his teeth, thumbing the hammer on his Colt Python.

"I've got something you want!" The Governor called again, bellowing like a crazy man. "I think you'd better come out here so we can chat."

"Shoot him," Michonne hissed between her teeth. Rick drew his gun quickly, ready to comply.

"Stay back," Rick attempted to move Michonne behind him. Conscious of the baby inside of her, Michonne reluctantly complied.

"You're taking your sweet time, Rick!" The Governor crowed from the other side of the fence. "More people are going to die because of you. Pretty little thing and her boyfriend. And something you borrowed from me."

Michonne watched Rick's eye twitch. Her fingers clenched around the handle of her sword. Whatever the Governor had done to Sasha, she'd be sure to do to him in turn.

"Come out, come out!" he continued his taunts.

Rick gripped the bolt of the main gate as the residents of the Haven began to gather around him. Tyrese nodded solemnly at them both.

"Kill that son of a bitch," he muttered.

Nodding, Rick pulled the gate open.

-l-l-l-l-

"What the fuck is going on?" Shane grunted.

The sound of bullets cut through the night, coming from the direction of the Haven.

"Be ready!" Daryl instructed, still running, his girl cradled in his arms. She was dipping in and out of consciousness, her arms tight around him. Andrea was still limp in Shane's grasp.

"I'm going to kill this asshole," Shane reaffirmed.

"If you get to him first," Daryl's voice was a growl.

-l-l-l-l-

"You need me," the Governor yelled, firing off Sasha's gun. "Or your friends are going to bleed out."

Rick raised his gun, returning fire. Behind him, Michonne maneuvered into position, sliding behind the gate to shield herself.

The Governor took aim, scattering bullets around Rick's feet. The skin of his arm was black and blue, his eye a gaping hole. If Rick hadn't known better, he'd have mistaken him for a walker.

"You've lost," he called back, walking forward. "It's over."

"It ain't!" the Governor was frantic. "I can rebuild. My people, they're going to live here. Your people are finished."

Behind him, Rick could hear the disbelieving chuckles of the residents of the Haven. It drew the Governor's attention. He aimed towards the wall, his one good arms swinging wildly. People took cover as bullets ricocheted. Rick kept his head forward with difficulty, leveling another well-aimed shot.

"It's over," he repeated.

The Governor swore frantically, clutching the trigger. More bullets rained out, landing harmlessly in the wall of the Haven. The gun sputtered, its ammunition spent, spewing nothing but air.

It was the opening they'd been waiting for. Michonne moved in a blur, her sword arcing in a deadly spiral as Rick pulled the trigger. The Governor's arm hit the ground, the hand still clutched around the gun. Rick's bullet hit him in the neck. He fell in a pile, his one eye wide in disbelief.

Michonne wasted no time in putting her sword through it. As quickly as it began, it was over.

There was a flurry of movement. Rick was vaguely aware of his people sprinting around him, of Daryl and Shane, both covered in mud and blood, rushing through the gates, of Tyrese's anguished scream.

He pulled Michonne into his arms, holding his wife close.

"It's done," she whispered against him.

Rick hugged her, suddenly exhausted.


	12. Epilogue

**A/N: Sorry for the delay! Between the holidays, a car accident, and catching a cold, it's been crazy on this end. Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited or messaged me. I appreciate it so much.**

 **Happy Holidays and goodbye for now!**

* * *

"It's time," the drizzle that had shrouded the haven for much of the day strengthened. Shane squinted as the moisture ran through his hair and down his face.

"You don't have to leave," Rick pushed his own sopping curls back, staring at the man in front of him.

"It's over now," Shane nodded solemnly, "It's time."

"You earned your place here," Rick imparted, tilting his head. "Relocating the Prisoners, cleaning up," he paused. "You're one of us now."

Shane hazarded a smile. "I appreciate that. But I ain't got a right to be here, no more than she does."

Rick sucked his teeth. He disagreed but knew better than to press the issue. "So, the Kingdom?" he asked.

Shane shrugged. "Seems like they have a place for a fighter like me."

"Well, if you ever change your mind," Rick extended his hand.

"I'll visit," Shane took it, squeezing hard. "You're going to have you hands full with two kids," his eyes found Michonne over Rick's shoulder.

Rick turned to glance back at his wife. She had Carl balanced on her baby bump. Both she and Carl waved from the cover of the porch.

"You're a lucky man," Shane patted him on the shoulder, hefting his bag over the other arm.

"I am," Rick could no disagree. "Maybe you'll get lucky too."

"Maybe," Shane took a long look at the houses around him. "I'll miss this place."

"Hurry back," Rick teased. "Dixon is going to miss you."

Shane snorted. "Dixon needs to focus on that gorgeous girl of his."

"His wife now," Rick grinned at the thought. "I think he's getting the idea."

"Keep him in line for me," Shane grinned right back. "I'll see you around."

"See you around," Rick echoed.

He joined his wife and son on the deck of their house, watching as Shane disappeared through the gates of the Haven.

"Can't believe he's leaving us for her," Rick said.

Michonne laughed. "Well, they say love is blind," she handed Carl over to him.

Rick felt his irritation melt as Carl wrapped his arms around his neck. Rick hugged him tightly, kissing the top of his curly-haired head.

"My parents will watch them," Michonne assured her husband, taking his free hand. "Just like your parents will watch the rest of the Prison refugees."

"Think we can trust them?" Rick asked.

Michonne smiled serenely. "We'll see. But I think so."

Rick turned to look back at the Haven. The streets were empty, quiet, broken only by the rain. The residents were home, bundled in from the growing cold. Glenn and Maggie's house emitted a warm glow from an open window, the sounds of the Rhee family muted beneath the weather. Beside their house, the Dixon residence emitted smoke from their chimney. Rick was willing to bet that the newlyweds were enjoying their alone time.

The fence was fixed, the fields weeded and plowed, the school closed for the weekend. There were no prisoners, no enemies at the gate, no work to be done.

"Let's go inside," Michonne suggested. "It's time for this one's nap." She kissed Rick's cheek, stroking his damp hair back from his face. "Then maybe we can go to bed," she whispered.

Rick spun on his heel, seizing his wife around the waist and dragging her, giggling, into their home.

-l-l-l-l-

Six months later…

The only one moving in the Haven was Rick.

The sun was not up yet, still heavily shrouded by clouds. His house was quiet, even the monitor on the dresser of his bedroom hummed gently. No one was awake beside him.

Stealthily, he set about rousing his wife.

"Michonne," he whispered her name into the crook of her neck.

She stirred, rolling closer to him on instinct, tucking her face into his chest. Rick seized the opportunity, maneuvering his arms around her.

"Michonne," he repeated, this time peppering her skin with light kisses.

"What's wrong?" she gradually began to come alive, her eyes still closed.

"Nothing," it felt amazing to even say it out loud. "Everything's quiet."

"Oh yeah?" she asked, fluttering her eyes open. "Then why are you waking me up?" she teased.

"It's been six weeks," he informed her cheekily, unable to hide his smile.

"Has it?" she shifted in his grasp, draping her arms around his shoulders.

"Trust me," he leaned his forehead against hers, "I've been counting."

She giggled, her face brightening. His hands tightened around her waist, tracing the faint marks left behind by both of their children.

"What time is it?" she asked, refusing to be distracted by his open mouthed kisses to her neck and shoulder. "We have a busy day."

"Why do you think I woke you up?" he rumbled against her, working his hands beneath her cotton shirt.

"We promised Sasha we were going to bring her the old crib," Michonne held him close, even as she protested. "You're going to piss off a pregnant woman."

"She'll live," Rick promised, clutching her round bottom in his eager hands.

Michonne ran her legs up his, her sock-clad foot sending chills racing up his spine. "Are you sure we have time?" she asked, already reciprocating his affections.

"It's been over six weeks," Rick nipped at her lips. "It might be quicker than you think." She laughed in earnest then, trembling with glee even as he rolled her beneath him. "Shhh…" he chuckled, happy to see her smile. "You're going to wake up the boys."

He kissed her properly and she parted her mouth for him instantly, her laughs transforming into a moan. He pulled the blanket around them, shielding them from the weather outside as he rid them both of their well-worn pajamas. Michonne gasped his name as he entered her. She clung to him tightly, barely allowing for space between them. Rick did not mind.

"I love you," he whispered into her hair.

Michonne kissed him on the bottom of his chin. "I love you too."

The monitor on their dresser began to emit quiet sounds. Rick sped up his movements, determined to lavish Michonne with as much attention as he could before the inevitable happened. He bowed his back, bending his head, pouring forward the mixture of sweet nothings and naughty words that always drove his wife insane. She clenched around him, letting out an impassioned cry just as the baby monitor pumped the sounds of an infant crying into the room. Carl's yells began shortly after, almost on cue.

Michonne panted beneath him, laughing, her face bright. She kissed Rick again. "Good timing," she teased. Rick grinned down at her, pulling himself up to begin searching for his clothing.

"I got it," Rick's head was spinning, his legs weak, but he found the strength to make it down the hall to his sons' room. He let Carl out first, listening to the sounds of his feet pounding a path down towards Michonne. He could hear his wife greeting Carl happily. Rick gathered up Andre, tucking the tiny brown body into a well-work crook in his arm. He followed his eldest back into the bedroom.

Michonne, now cleaned up and covered again, took Andre from him as he deposited himself back on the bed. Carl wasted no time in falling onto his father's chest, falling back asleep. Andre busied himself with eating. Michonne reclined beside Rick, laying her head on his shoulder.

"You ok?" she asked him, stroking their newest son's head.

"I'm perfect." He kissed her, then his boys in turn. He laid back down, enjoying the quiet around him.

The world could wait for just a bit.


End file.
